#prompt: locked in a freezer

[chrysochroma]

within your walls (desire, desire, till there’s nothing left of me)

@febuwhump 2024: Day 2: solitary confinement

@badthingshappenbingo : locked in a freezer (card is at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 2,367

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Warnings: Kidnapping, Torture, Human Experimentation, Unethical Experimentation, Temporary Character Death

Read on Ao3

the title is from Strangler Fig by the Crane Wives

this is inspired by @aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown ‘s Hels to Pay AU and From Eden by aquaquadrant.

i highly suggest you read that first bc it is both amazing and the context is helpful

this is the link to aquaquadrant’s From Eden master post

this is also inspired by this piece of art by lunarcrown

as well as lunarcrown’s orginal comic

anyways, enjoy some pain and suffering :)

Deep inside the Hels Tek facility, Tango stood, claws dripping with redstone dust, in front of a grid of circuitry.

The machine Dr. Atlas had sent him to repair wasn’t too complicated, in fact it wasn’t much of a challenge at all. It was just as simple as replacing a few components with the ones the circuit required and drawing a few more lines of redstone dust. The mechanism felt reminiscent of a puzzle you might give a toddler—Tango felt that all he was doing was placing the different shaped blocks in their corresponding holes—but he figured that it was just a test to see what he knows, which didn’t surprise him. This was like his entrance exam before being hired to work at Hels, he supposed. It explained why Dr. Atlas always seemed to be just a few feet away, no matter where they were. Tango hoped that that was a good sign.

A voice came from behind him. “Very nice.”

Tango jumped and spun around to come face to face with Dr. Atlas. “Oh! Doctor, didn’t see ya there. I finished fixing this thing for you,” He gestured at the contraption behind him.

Atlas took his eyes off Tango and studied his repair job instead, as Tango continued to talk.

“It wasn’t too hard, a few things were in the wrong places but that’s pretty much it.” He turned around to look back at his work.

“I see,” Atlas responded, somewhat distracted. His eyes had locked back onto the swirling crown of blaze rods floating above Tango’s head, and he reached into his lab coat.

“So, do you have anything else for me to do?” Tango fiddled with a spare comparator as he spoke.

Atlas stepped closer. “I think that you’ll be very beneficial to us here at Hels Tek.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Atlas.” Tango spoke, still focused on his redstone.

“So am I.”

Tango felt a sharp prick on his neck, and before he could turn to see what it was from, his legs gave out from under him and his vision went black.

A numbing chill spread through Tango’s bones as his eyes slowly opened. His mind was racing but his breathing was sluggish, muscles slowed by the cold. His senses seemed dulled—whether it was because of whatever knocked him unconscious or yet another effect of the raw, sharp iciness he was surrounded by, Tango didn’t know.

He was laying on the floor, staring up at a plain, white ceiling, dotted with glowstone lamps. They cast a warm yellow over the room, providing Tango with a false sense of warmth that he wished was real. He started to sit up, then immediately noticed an unfamiliar weight on his wrists and neck. The deep jangle of chains being dragged along the floor pulled him even further out of unconsciousness.

“Good morning, Mr. Tango.”

Tango’s eyes snapped up to see Dr. Atlas writing something into a small notebook. The pair made eye contact through the wall of glass separating them, and Atlas smiled. Tango tried to push himself up onto his feet, his arms trembling, but nearly fell onto his face instead. (He glanced up to see Atlas watching him fail to adjust to his lack of energy, then write something down.) His arms, his legs, his brain all seemed to betray him as he struggled to stand, but finally, he forced himself to do so. The heavy iron chains that connected to his collar and shackles and kept him tethered to the ground seemed to drag him back down, but he stood and looked Atlas in the eye.

“Hey, Atlas.” He called out. “What is this?” His voice was filled with confusion and frustration, but overall much less fear than there should’ve been.

“Your new assignment,” Atlas responded.

“Uh, no, thanks. What even-“ He looked around for a second, cutting himself off as he stared into the solid white room beyond the glass box he was trapped in. “What is this?” He repeated.

Atlas snapped his notebook shut and tucked it into one of the pockets of his lab coat. “Like I said, your new assignment, where you will be staying. Indefinitely.”

Tango frowned. “Yeah, no, let me out.” He looked down at the new jumpsuit he was wearing. “And where are my clothes?”

Atlas didn’t respond.

“Hey!” Tango raised his voice. “Let me out of-“ He stepped forward and the chain attached to his collar pulled taut, momentarily choking him. Hurriedly, he stepped back, coughing.

Dr. Atlas stepped up to the glass door, then punched a code into the keypad mounted on the wall next to it. The door opened with a click and Atlas stepped inside, followed by two other Hels Tek employees, who moved to stand on either side of him. Tango’s eyes flitted around the room, trying to keep track of all three at once. Then, Atlas nodded, and the other scientists stepped up, each grabbing one of Tango’s arms. Tango’s muscles tensed up—at least as much as they could—and he pulled against the scientists restraining him. Still, they held him fast, not much effort required.

Atlas stepped forward, reached up, grabbed one of Tango’s blaze rods, and yanked. The blaze rod sizzled, leaving a trail of sparks behind it, but it came loose from Tango’s crown and smoldered in Atlas’s hand. He brought it up to eye level to inspect it—golden, shining, smoking, and most of all, valuable.

Tango gasped in pain, but quickly regained his composure and continued to pull away from the scientists, while glaring at Atlas.

“Hey! Stop it! You can’t do that!”

Dr. Atlas tucked Tango’s blaze rod into his lab coat, then looked back at Tango. “Yes I can.”

The two scientists pushed Tango down, forcing him to his knees. He pulled against their grip with all his strength, but couldn’t do anything to stop them as they pushed him closer and closer to the ground, until he was on his stomach, his face pressed up against the concrete. One of them pinned his wrists behind his back, and the other held his neck against the ground until they had him under their control.

“Guys, hey-!” Tango protested.

Atlas leaned down, fixated on Tango’s swirling crown, then plucked each of the blaze rods out of orbit, one by one. Tango felt each and every one of them leave their place, their absence feeling like a pit in his heart.

“C’mon, not another one,” Tango pleaded. Dr. Atlas ignored him.

In the absence of any blaze rods, sparks fizzled up around Tango’s head, but no new ones formed.

Atlas frowned. “Hm. That’s a shame.”

“Atlas, stop this! Just- c’mon-“

One of the scientists forced his head back to the ground, slamming it into the concrete. Tango gasped at the impact. Then, from the sparks, a new blaze rod flared into existence. Atlas smiled.

“You know,” He looked Tango in the eye. “You and I are going to do great things together, Mr. Tango.”

“Atlas! St-“ he cut himself off with a wince as Atlas stole his final remaining blaze rod.

Still smiling, Atlas stood and walked out of the room, the other two following him out. The door slammed shut behind them, pushing another wave of ice cold air over Tango.

Slowly, he sat up, aching and fatigued, shivering. Then he tucked himself into a ball, too tired to fight back. He closed his eyes.

All of Tango’s days seemed to blend together, forming one painful, seemingly endless existence. Except it wasn’t really endless—Tango had died almost too many times to count over that long expanse of time. Almost.

Minuscule thorns like hypodermic needles jabbed into his skin from all angles. They seemed to suck the blood out of him, slowly and steadily, until there was none left. The branches wrapped around his arms and legs bore scarlet red berries, and the droplets of Tango’s blood scattered over the leaves and floor looked just like minuscule versions of them. They brought a constant, throbbing, piercing pain that Tango could never take his mind off of, at least until-

But that was too slow.

Deep red mist seemed to linger in the air, clouding Tango’s vision and filling his lungs. It burned his eyes and throat, adding to the pain swirling around his body. Each time a bottle dropped, he felt as if a portion of his soul was ripped away, claimed by the burgundy flecks that seemed to glimmer in and out of existence. He lost more and more of himself, never given a chance to recover, until-

<Tango was killed by magic>

But that was too effective.

Steam swirled up from the ground, enveloping him in a cloud of warmth. The red-hot, glowing coals were almost comfortable under his feet. The heat was scalding, yet familiar, and almost sympathetic. Tango was hardly surprised when the first sharp sting across his face came. The Doctors needed to have their fun, after all. So, he stood in the welcoming embrace of liquid hellfire and heard his bones snap, and break, and shatter, until-

<Tango walked into danger zone due to AtlasSyn>

But (as much as it was fun) that was too inefficient.

A cold, slippery nothing filled Tango’s throat, invading his lungs and emptying his mind of anything except panic. It was too thin, too slick to get a hold onto as it dissolved into his core, turning his embers into nothing but smoke. It filled him with terror like nothing else ever could. He was surrounded by it, and helpless to do anything to stop it from ripping away his life, his soul, his fire, until-

<Tango drowned>

But that harmed the product.

A prickling, unnatural chill crept over Tango’s bones. It seeped into his skin like salt dissolving into water—slow and gradual, yet present all the time. It seemed to touch each and every one of his nerves, somehow lighting them on fire and enveloping them in numbness at the same time. It sent a shiver down his spine so curious it almost could’ve tickled if it didn’t hurt so much. It ate away at him, bit by bit, until-

<Tango withered away>

It was perfect—slow, constant, enveloping, (painful,) impeccable. And so the experiments began.

Tango sat, unmoving, just like they told him to. He held still, just like they said, as rows of thorns were stabbed into his arms. Both of his arms were completely numb, yet seemed to be flickering with pinpricks of pain. Dr. Atlas himself was there to pluck the blaze rods from his crown, tucking each one into his coat as if he meant to protect them with his life. It was a constant cycle: Dr. Atlas would take a blaze rod from him, another thorn would be stabbed into his arm, and another blaze rod would appear, ready to be stolen once more.

There had once been a bouquet of wither roses in front of him. They were enchanting, almost would’ve been beautiful, if he hadn’t known what it was like to feel their wrath. Now, there was a pile of deep purple, almost black rose buds lying discarded on a table off to the side (they only needed the thorns).

As a scientist moved to place another bud in the pile, a clump of black, dusty pollen tumbled out of the flower and onto Tango’s arm. Almost immediately, it melted into Tango’s skin, turning the surrounding area a bit gray.

Dr. Atlas’s eyes instantly locked onto the still slightly gray spot. He pointed to the scientist holding the rose bud. “Bring that over here.”

They complied, and Dr. Atlas stuck his finger into the center of the rose, then pulled it out. Black dust coated the tip of his gloved finger, sticking to it like glitter. He turned back to Tango, then smeared the pollen across his forearm. Just as quickly as before, it absorbed into Tango’s flesh, this time leaving faint traces of black veins underneath his skin.

A newfound sense of pain rushed through Tango’s arm, pumping through his bloodstream. The sparks above his head flared, and a blaze rod shimmered into existence, taking its place in his crown. Dr. Atlas reached up a hand, then plucked it, a faint smile on his face.

The pollen was better, they’d found. It was more potent, more harmful, more efficient. The once discarded rose buds had suddenly become a treasure trove for the scientists, and Dr. Atlas couldn’t have been more pleased. And so the testing began.

Test #1: Tears welled up in Tango’s eyes as the now familiar prickling numbness drove him further to insanity. That black dust coated his throat and lungs, making him cough. A couple tears rolled down his cheeks as he felt one of his blaze rods get ripped away from him.

Test #60: Slowly but surely, they were tearing him apart. He felt like, as each blaze rod was stolen from him, a part of his fire went along with. His soul was being taken and sold to the masses for nothing but a bit of profit.

Test #157: Tango longed for the sliding metal doors to his blank white room to open. Even when they were there to refill the respawn anchor, trapping him here. Even when they came to empty the hoppers of his blaze rods, using him for their gain. Even when they came to chop off his claws, preventing any resistance. Because it was better than nothing, right?

Test #326: For Tango, crying was a constant. He took some comfort in it—among all of the deaths, all the malfunctions, through the never-ending blanket of prickling numbness, at least he had this. It was enough.

It wasn’t too much of a change for Tango when Dr. Atlas and the others came to move him into his new home. Just one torture chamber in a blank room to another. He could barely even notice a difference (maybe he didn’t care to).

Dr. Atlas smiled at him through the glass. “Welcome to your new home, Tango Tek.”

#writing #creative writing #hermitcraft #tangotek #bad things happen bingo #prompt: locked in a freezer #fandom: hermitcraft #febuwhump #febuwhump day 2

[queers-gambit]

Opening Night and Open Hearts

prompt: opening night - a mother's fear, a locked walk-in freezer, confessions through a thick metal door, questioning what's deserved, and a proposal at The Bear after hours.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 9.8k+

note: i think i give enough background for you guys to feel as if you don't need to read any other relating works, but i linked the fics that could be read as a small series (maybe?) also let author be lonely in peace

warnings: reader nicknamed Peach, established relationship, cursing, spoilers, fluff, angst, relationship angst, hurt and comfort, Carmy still (desperately) needs a nap, depiction of physical illness, boys are dumb and emotions are hard, reader-insert, depiction of toxic family, OC Carmy that grovels a lot, not edited!

⚠️ season two, episode ten spoilers

not necessary to read, but other relating works with Peach:

Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant

God's Plan part two: Two to Tango

Neon Sticky Notes

"Hi, yes, I can hear you - sorry about that, I was just making note of your reservation," you spoke smoothly into the phone, trying not to ogle your boyfriend wrapped in only a clean blue towel. "So, that's a party of four for Monsieur Claude Badeaux - all right, that's so lovely. I'm obligated to remind everyone that tonight's opening is a fine dining experience and the proper, corresponding dress code is being asked for. Are there any allergies I should make note of for your party?"

"Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy," you were told.

"All right, that's noted and highlighted: Jean Paul has a tree nut allergy. If there's anything else I could help you with?"

"Non," he chuckled. "I was surprised to see your invitation to this evening, though, mon cher. It's been so long, yes?"

"Well, it was my pleasure to extend the offer, we're ecstatic by your reservation," you chuckled. "We'll see you tonight, Monsieur, and should you need anything before then, you may call this number again."

You said your parting words in French, smiling at Carmy when you hung up and dropped your work phone. "Did I hear that correct?" Your lover asked with a broad grin, "Was that...?"

"Senior marketing advisor at The Washington Post?" You filled in for him. "Uh, yeah, I think it was, but you know me - I could be wrong."

"You invited someone from The Washington Post to the opening tonight?"

"Is that okay?" You asked, standing from the bed after making note in your datebook. "You look kinda - I don't know, shocked?"

"I-I am," he blinked at you, watching you gather his pristine clothing to hang on the closet door. "But in a good way - I can't believe you did this," he chuckled, wiping his mouth. "I mean - holy shit, Peaches."

You offered a toothy grin, "Figured I could pull a few of my own strings to help get the word out about your love-child."

This made Carmy snicker, "Hey, now. Tonight's important, don't make fun."

"I know," you nodded, leading him back into the bathroom to view your hair products. "Which is why I invited some important people and some not-so important people. I know this is serious, Carmy," you smiled at him, hoping to convey your support, "and I wanted to help in whatever way I could."

"You being there tonight is more than I could ask for," he chuckled, helping you onto the small bathroom counter. You squirted a bit of hair product in your hand, watching him flinch back a little, "Uh, I just don't want my hair greasy, Peach, you know? Not a good look and I'll sweat it out in the kitchen."

"I feel like I should be offended by you having no trust in me," you teased, insisting, "I know whatcha need, baby, lemme help."

Carmy smiled softly and held still, letting you run your hands through his curls to push everything back and away from his forehead in a stylish but manageable "do". There was a silent, serene moment as you and Carmy just existed together in a mundane space, his big, sad eyes watching your face as you worked. He wondered, "Think tonight's gonna be okay?"

"I think tonight's gonna be more than okay," you assured softly. "I think tonight's gonna go better than you're anticipating."

He sighed and planted his hands on either side of you, suddenly dropping his gaze. "I, uh... Sugar invited Mom t'tonight..."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know?"

"Sugar and I are still friends outside of us dating, Carmy," you smiled patiently, slowing your hands so you more toyed with his curls; pushing some strands behind his ears. "She needs someone as much as you do and I don't mind."

"But isn't that what Pete's for?"

"Yes, but you know, Pete's Pete."

Carmy snorted, "Yeah, yeah, good point."

"I don't know if she'll show up tonight, Bear, but whether she does or doesn't, it won't matter - you're not doing this for her. This is for you, Carmy, tonight's about The Bear opening - it's about you and this incredible, amazing thing you've done. Okay?" You caressed both his cheeks in your hands so he could only look at you directly. "If she shows, that's great," you whispered with a soft smile as your thumbs swept the apples of his cheeks, "and if she doesn't, it won't make tonight any less special. That, I can promise."

Carmy's forehead met yours, both pausing to breathe together; peace always a fleeting feeling as of late and being something you both capitalized on. You brought him in closer for an embrace, his face burying in your neck as your arms snaked around his to keep him as close as possible. His arms were tight around your waist, legs spread to accommodate him; both needing the feel of being close before that night's inevitable stressful event.

"Wow, well, don't you look all pretty! Wow, Peach," Pete greeted you when you scurried to the table with your friend in tow. "Oh, hi there!"

"Pete, this is my best friend, Danielle, and Dani, this is Pete, Sugar's husband."

"Hi, it's really nice to meet you," your friend greeted, the two instantly chattering as they both just blew past their introductions to instantly compliment one another's clothes. You smirked, knowing they'd get along famously, and looked around the brand new, packed restaurant.

"Hey, there she is, my pretty girl," Richie greeted smoothly, approaching your standing form to slide his hand around your shoulders.

"Hi, Cousin," you beamed, offering him a hug in greeting. "The place looks fantastic - it's so - I mean - just wow, Richie," you complimented. "You guys did such an amazing job. I need to tell Fak, too, this is - you guys should be so proud, it looks incredible. Hardly can believe what it was before this."

"It really is something, huh?" He grinned. "Hey, Pete," he nodded.

"Hey, Richie."

"And you must be the famous, the fabulous Miss Danielle?"

"That's me," your friend grinned. "You're Richie, right? Carmy's cousin who's not really a cousin but is as good as blood?"

"Yes, ma'am, the very same," he nodded with pride. "We've some drinks coming your way in just a moment, but I need to borrow Peach for just one second."

"Why do they call her Peach?" Dani asked, but Richie was leading you away as Pete was heard answering,

"Oh, because she mastered this peach cobbler with Carmy's mom, Donna, and she started the nickname..."

"What's wrong?" You asked softly with a smile as to not give the illusion to others that you were worried. "What can I do to help?"

"No, no, nothing too bad, you were just requested by the Frenchie-French guy."

"Oh, right, that's right, yeah, I can help with that," you sighed gently, smiling as you approached the table. Greeting the two men and women was easy, Richie impressed by your connections in the professional world. Tonight, The Washington Post didn't just dine with them - no, it was also the director of social media for three luxury, designer brands: Jean-Paul.

Yes, the man was so elusive that he just went by Jean-Paul. Fuck a last name!

Either way, it impressed Richie to hear the introductions. The two women were executives in their own companies, names Richie didn't catch because he was busy taking note of the way Mr. Frenchie-French was basically eye fucking you in front of them all.

"Well," Richie smiled stiffly, "tonight's incredibly special for us. In fact, uh, Y/N's boyfriend is the owner and head chef."

"Really?" Frenchie-French perked his brows, shifting his gaze over to you. "You always had a soft spots for chefs, non? For those who were versed in the culinary arts?"

"Well, mostly I appreciated a man in the kitchen simply because I burn water and would probably unintentionally starve myself," you teased easily, deflecting the man's subtle dig. "I'm actually here with family tonight, so, please, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy tonight - I know I'm biased when I say the food is exceptional, but I look forward to your own opinions."

"We will talk later, mon cher, I am sure there will be plenty to discuss," the Frenchman promised, kissing the back of your hand as you let Richie lead you away by your free hand.

You released a long sigh, muttering, "Bring them a bottle of real champagne, please, Richie, I had a few bottles imported just for them. Listen closely," you lowered your voice as you both paused on the side of the dining room, "bring them a bowl of thin sliced strawberries sprinkled in sugar and pop the cork at their table - it's impressive for whatever reason."

Richie pecked your temple and gave you a tight squeeze, "I got it all covered, girly. You all right? Look like you're gonna be sick?"

"Just men being men grosses me out, I guess," you sighed with a small shrug. "He's always had a thing for me, I figured I'd use that to get him here tonight - Carmy's work speaks for itself, but maybe he'd be inclined to publish an article or two for us if I play nice."

Richie paused you a few feet from your table, complimenting, "I hope Carmy knows he doesn't deserve you, Peach."

"You said years ago neither of us did," you smirked gently. "Said I wasn't relationship material, right? Remember?"

"I was wrong," he nodded. "I even said y'all would never be serious, but..." He scoffed to himself, "I've never seen that boy so crazy about anyone in his life. You've really changed him, Peach. I don't really know how to thank you."

"You can start by buttering up those flirty Frenchmen," you teased, giving his cheek a peck.

"On it," he winked, parting from your side.

Inside the kitchen some twenty minutes later, Richie approached Carmy, directing his attention, "Cousin?"

"Yo."

"Peach is on 17 with Pete."

"Okay."

"Go say hi."

"Yeah, eventually," Carmy nodded absently, never halting his work.

"Eventually?" Richie repeated with distain, something in his stomach twisting.

"Where the fuck is Josh!?" Carmy called into the kitchen, another chef echoing his concerns.

"Yo!" Richie barked as calmly as he could, "Just go say hi to your girl, Cousin."

"Yo, I'll go when I have a minute," Carmy deflected strongly. "I'm in the fuckin' shit, leave me the fuck alone."

"What? I'm saying - "

"I'll get there when I can get there!"

"I'm saying!"

"What?" Carmy barked.

"She's got important fucking people in that dining room, man," Richie scoffed, hands held up in defense. "Just for your ungrateful ass! Maybe the least you can do is go say fuckin' hi - even if you're fuckin' busy. She knows that, it'd be a nice gesture - or whatever fuckin' shit - I don't know! She's your girl!"

"Yeah! Exactly!" Carmy barked. "She's my fuckin' girl, she knows the fuckin' drill, I'll go say fuckin' hi when I get the fuckin' chance, Richie! Fuck's sake! Always tryna meddle and shit!"

"Jesus, fuck," Richie sighed, turning out of the kitchen with his hands waving Carmy off in defeat.

You were none the wiser, entertained by Pete and Dani's gabbing as Sugar was in-and-out, dealing with all the little things going wrong. These little things came to her in the form of notes left at the table subtly for her to go solve, you wanting to help but being shot down every time. Eventually, Carmy was approaching your table with a tray of food, shocking you slightly.

"Hey, Peach," He greeted softly, lowering the tray to balance on the table and lean over to kiss your cheek. "You look gorgeous, baby, wow," he complimented in a whisper, offering another quick kiss.

"Thank you, Chef," you smiled brightly, touching his forearm in a sign of affection. "What's all this you've got for us?"

He hummed and explained what he set on the table in front of you guys; eyes alight and cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He poured whatever sauce came with the main dish, smiling at Dani, nodding to Pete, then looking to you.

"I'll check on you later, all right, baby?" He mumbled, watching you nod. "I gotta get back," he whispered, "but thank you for being here, my pretty girl."

"No where else I'd rather be, Cream," you rushed, letting his lips find yours briefly.

"Stick around after, would you? When we close, just... Don't leave yet."

"Yes, Chef," you whispered against his lips with a grin. He gave one single more kiss before pulling away to stand upright.

"Enjoy," he bid the table before walking away.

"So, like," Dani trailed after making sure Carmy was out of earshot, "when's the wedding? 'Cause that might've been the cutest thing I've seen. I mean, opening night, he's cooking, but paused to come serve us? Serve you? And he's so soft with you, kissin' you, bein' all cute," she pouted dramatically. "I want a reason to wear a maid of honor dress, please."

"Hey, hey, chill on us. There's no wedding," you sighed with a small laugh, trying to play off how the subject made your stomach twist. "We haven't really talked about it, you know? No biggie."

"What?" She sputtered. "Wait, hang on. Y'all have been together - like - a stupid, ridiculous amount of time. The fuck you mean you haven't talked about it? What are y'all doing, just ignoring the elephant in the room?"

You shrugged lightly, "I don't know, we know if we ever got married, it'd be to each other, but that's really it. We know we want to be together, we know we want to marry each other, but there's been no serious conversation about it."

"Uh, does that sound right to you?" Dani asked Pete.

He shook his head as you all took dainty bites of food to savor the flavors (and save Sugar some). "When I knew with Natalie, I didn't hesitate."

"Well, Carmy isn't like you, Pete," you defended. "He's got a lot on his plate, too, you know?"

"You've said that since Mikey," Dani frowned, her voice quiet.

"With good reason, don't you think? Carmy's just - he's just going through a lot right now and it's a challenge, you know?"

"No, it's more like Carmy's got the emotional intelligence of a fucking teaspoon!"

"Hey," you snapped, "that's not his fault, he doesn't know much better, so watch your mouth."

"He does with you, like... He knows better when he's with you, when it comes to you, Peach," Pete offered softly. "Look, maybe Danielle has a point - it is a little weird. I mean, you guys have been together, what? Six, almost seven years? Creeping up on a decade of just dating - that's a long time. And didn't you guys do that weird little half-dating thing for two years before making it official? Don't you think that's enough time to know if you want to marry someone, and then, you know? Actually marry them? Or at least ask them?"

"Sure, maybe to other people, but Carmy and I have never been conventional, so, I don't see why we need to start now."

Danielle scoffed, "Look, God love Carmy and everything, but you're just wasting time now. He needs to either commit or let you find someone who can actually love you like you deserve."

"Oh, and Carmy doesn't?"

"Wasn't all that long ago that you two took a break 'cause he called you clingy - and some other unsavory terms," Danielle shrugged. "Doesn't really sound like someone who loves you unconditionally - the way you should be loved."

You sighed and sat back in your chair, "I appreciate the insight, but Carm and I are fine. Okay? We've got years under our belts, we don't want to fuck up what obviously works for us so chill out on the questions, okay? I don't have answers to them."

Danielle and Pete shared a look before the man got up to excuse himself to the restroom. You and Dani finished your meals before sipping your wine, waiting for Pete, but Dani sighed, "This lady's been staring in here for, like, ten minutes already. It's freezing, doesn't she want to come in?"

"Hmm? What're you - ?"

"This lady on the street," your friend pointed over her shoulder towards the window her back was now turned to.

When you peaked out, you gasped lightly when you saw Donna Berzatto smoking a cigarette. "Oh, shit!" You stood from your seat, rushing, "Okay, so, uh, yeah - just - can you just sit here for a second? I have to go handle that."

"Who is it?" Dani wondered earnestly.

"I got it, Peach," Pete told you, passing by the table swiftly with a hand patting your shoulder to keep you at your table.

"What the hell's happening?" Dani asked. "Who is that?"

"Nothing, no one, it's okay, I think that's someone we know, just, uh, hang on a second? We'll be right back."

"Sure," she nodded in confusion, watching you get from your seat and follow Pete out the door onto the blistering cold sidewalk.

"Hey, Mama Donna," you greeted happily, arms crossing over your chest to protect from the wind. "Have you been inside yet? We saved you a seat and all, but isn't this - just wow?" You grinned, trying to encourage her to say anything about her children's hard work.

"Oh, no, no, not you, too, Peach, why are you here?" She groaned lightly, looking upset and close to tears.

"I'm here 'cause of Carmy? I-It's opening night, yeah?" You offered in confusion. "Why? What's wrong, Mama D?" You worried, glancing at an emotional Pete.

"No, it's just, I can't come in, I can't, just no," she backed away, only now making you notice the way Pete cried. "I'm so sorry, Peach, honey, but I was never here. Okay? I-I'll call them later, I swear, I promise, I'll call them - but I-I-I wasn't here. Okay? You can't tell them I was here. I'm so sorry."

"Donna, don't do this," you begged, head shaking. "Don't, please. Just come in with Pete and I - just sit there for a bit. Just come in and see what your kids have done - Donna, it's so beautiful. You'd be so proud, but you should really see it for yourself - "

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, not tonight, no, I'm sorry, I can't," she deflected in a rambling mumble, turning and hustling down the sidewalk with her head shaking like a Etch-A-Sketch.

You rounded on Pete, "What the hell was that? Pete, what just happened?"

"Um, I-I don't - I didn't mean to."

"Pete? What didn't you mean?"

"She didn't tell her mom about the baby," he rushed, tears falling. "Nat didn't tell Donna, Peach, and I think I just did - I think I just fucked up and told her."

"Oh, no... No, Pete, you didn't."

"I didn't mean to! I swear it was an accident!"

"No, I know you didn't mean to, honey," you rushed, opening your arms to bring him in for a tight hug. "Oh, you poor boy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pete."

He sighed, "I'm sorry, too, Peach."

"For what?"

"That... We fell in love with Berzattos and this is our new normal now, right?" He sniffled.

You half-smiled, "Yeah, something like that. But it's okay. See, where Donna's afraid to give her love, neither of us are. Sugar and Carm deserve that from us, right? To be authentic and just love them?"

He nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

"And that's all we gotta do... Is love them, Pete."

"God knows where else they'd get it," he huffed, wiping his face. "Hey, um, I'll be in, in a second - I just need a minute alone, I think, in the cold."

"Take all the time you need," you agreed.

"We're not - we're not telling them about this, right?"

You sighed, "No, I don't think so - at least right now. It might hurt them more, you know? To know Donna was here, but never came in. That she ran away... Again. It'll hurt, they deserve to be happy about tonight."

Pete nodded rapidly, looking like he was gonna burst into tears. Instead of going back inside, you just moved to Pete's side and stood there; producing a cigarette, lighting it, offering Pete a drag that he turned down, and the both of you just standing silently; one smoking, one crying, both processing.

"Wow, look at these gorgeous ladies! By far the baddest in the whole place! Yeah, man!" Fak teased as he approached you and Danielle after closing the The Bear officially. "What a privilege to have you both dine with us this evening! Ugh, truly an honor to see you both here," he praised comically, evening giving a small bow that his brother mimicked.

Your eyes rolled, "You're laying it on really thick when I already tipped you." He snickered with Theo. "Hey, seriously, though, tonight was incredible. I mean, it was all so beautiful, you should all be so proud."

"Oh, we are," Neil giggled, his brother hanging off his shoulders.

"Good," you teased. "Uh, is now an okay time to go back and see him? Kinda wanna offer my compliments to the chef directly, you know?"

"No," Fak answered instantly, "uh, well, probably not the best time."

"Yeah, probably not," Theodore echoed.

"I can sense you two ramping up to something," you sighed, "so, I'm gonna ask you skip all that and tell me what's wrong. Why can't I go see my boyfriend? He just had an incredibly successful opening night, I kinda wanna kiss him if you don't mind."

"Um, well, h-he didn't want you to worry, so, he said not t'tell you, but, uh... Yeah, no, Carmy's, like, locked in the walk-in freezer. Han Solo style."

"What?"

"Locked in the walk-in," Fak nodded rapidly, "yeah, no, the handle - like, the whole handle came off. He's locked in, Peach..."

"Oh, my fucking God," you breathed. "Are you saying he - he missed opening night? Neil!"

"Yeah, kinda... Well, sorta - I mean, technically, but - "

"Oh, Jesus," you breezed past them all.

"Mmm-mmm, the fridge guy's name is Terry," Tina corrected Carmy, flinching a little when he slapped the other side of the metal door he was locked behind.

"See, th-tha-that's what I'm talking about!" Carmy raged. "I'm so fucking distracted, and for what? For fucking what? 'Cause of a girl?" He chuckled ruefully to himself.

"Nuh-uh, don't do that, Carmy," Tina scolded. "That's not no girl, that's your girl, that's Peach - you don't lash out at her, baby."

"Yo, maybe - maybe I'm just not built for this. Right? Maybe that's okay! Maybe that just is. She'd be better off, Tina... I'm just - I'm not built for this."

But what Carmy didn't hear was Sydney asking Tina to cover her at the front because she needed to step out the back, get some air; Tina accepting and telling Carm to hang on a moment. Something he missed. While Tina took Syd's spot, Syd rushed outside, and you slipped in the kitchen door; Carmy being surrounded by shitty ripped tape and an entire side full of the flowers he had brought in for tonight - for you. It was a haunting reminder; something suffocating.

When you got to the walk-in, you were prepared to call out for Carmy, but he started speaking from within, halting any word on your tongue.

"I wasn't here b-because I was looking a-a-at fucking engagement rings when the fridge guy fuckin' called," Carmy ranted, your heart stalling in your chest. "Right? Like, what the fuck was I thinking? Like I was gonna get married? Commit to this relationship? Be h-her fucking husband or some shit? Have a fucking wife? I'm a fucking - I'm a fuckin' psycho!" He laughed a little, the tears springing to your eyes as his words disarmed your heart and emotional dam. "That's why! That's why I'm good at what I do! That's how I operate! I am the best because I didn't have any of this fuckin' bullshit, right? I could - I could focus and I could concentrate and I had a routine and I - and I had fuckin' cell reception, and Peach and I just had our own routine! We didn't need this extra bullshit, and now..."

You just listened, leaning on the freezer's door, tears silently leaking down your cheeks as you had the horrendous realization that you were what now slowed Carmy down. You were what currently stood in his way, when this whole time, you thought you were helping; making things easier; supporting him. No... No, his words rattled your heart to accept that you were now the bane; the object of his ire. You and your relationship was what was wrong and was causing Carmy hurt and professional complications.

Something you never wanted to contribute towards. You both always said if this relationship got to be too hard, you'd walk away. Better to feel anger than resentment; and now, you knew you had to walk away else risk that resentment fester.

Carmy started up again, "I don't need to provide amusement or enjoyment, I don't need to be someone's 'to have and to hold'. I don't need to receive any amusement or enjoyment, nor for someone to have and hold me... And I'm completely fine with that. Because no amount of good is worth how terrible this fucking feels." You were ready to open your mouth, but he finished by nailing the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, "It's just a complete waste of fuckin' time - entertaining what I know I shouldn't. Being in this relationship, trying to give what I don't have, wasting everyone's time."

You took your chance, speaking through your tears, "I'm really sorry you feel that way, Carmen."

"Peach?" Carmy rasped from behind the door, sounding more alert than he had before. "Baby? Hey, hey, Peaches? That you? Peach - hey. Hey," he sounded desperate as you backed away from the door, a fist pounding into the metal, "hey, no, Y/N? Y/N!" The seriousness settled over you both, Carmen understanding you heard a lot more than ever intended and once those words are out there, there's no getting them back. "Y/N, baby? Hey, no, no, Y/N - listen to me - hey, no, no! I-I didn't know you were there, baby, okay? No, Y/N, please - tell me you're there now, let me explain." He paused. "Let me explain! Please! C'mon, baby, please, let me fucking explain - tell me you're still there! Y/N? Y/N!"

You sniffled and walked away, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You barely noticed when the kitchen door opened, not until a figured dressed in black stopped you. "Peach? Hey, hey," Richie halted you - taking note of the tears. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you okay - who fuckin' did it?"

You just stared at Richie for a long moment, opening your mouth twice before sighing and smiling sadly. "I never wanted to be what got in his way," you whispered sadly. "I'm sorry, Richie."

"Peaches, hey, what's - "

But you reached up to kiss his cheek, "Tonight was so beautiful, Cousin, and I'm so fucking proud of you all. Thank you for everything - not just tonight, Richie, but everything you do." You smiled again, whispering, "Take care of him. Okay? He'll need you."

"What're you talking about? What's going on? Where are you going? Hey, where are you going, Peach, please?"

"Have a good night, Richie, I love you," you whispered, leaving out the kitchen door as quickly as you could. "Hey," you sniffled, approaching Dani with the Fak Brothers, "can we go now, please?"

"Are you okay?" Dani worried in shock.

"I'd really like to go, Dani, please," you rushed, throwing your coat on and smiling at the Brothers as if your heart wasn't in pieces. "Thanks again for tonight, you guys, it was magical."

"Peach? Wait, hey, are you okay, baby? What just happened?" Neil worried, watching you snatch Dani's hand, but pause when screaming was heard from the kitchen. Everyone stared at the door, Neil muttering, "The fuck are they...?"

"Now, Dani, please," you whimpered to your friend, who wasted no time in escorting you out of The Bear. The moment you were outside, you burst into sobs, Dani grunting a little as she lead you down a side alley to lean you on a brick wall and beg you to breathe normally.

"What the hell just happened? Hey, honey, you need to breathe," she smoothed hair off your face - but it was like you were drowning in the air with the way you gasped and gaped and panted and whimpered and choked yourself.

"I-I-I-I think - I think w-we're done, I think we're done, I think - oh, fuck - I think we just broke up," you sobbed, hands on your knees. "Oh, my God, Dani," you whimpered, "I-I think - I think we're done, Danielle, oh, my fucking God. I-I heard things tonight that I just - I can't not know, anymore! He said - fuck! He was just so candid, he didn't know I was there so h-he was sayin' things I have t-to now confront - and I really didn't fucking want to! He just - he doesn't want to really marry me, D, and-and-and he was apparently looking a-a-a-at rings - fucking engagement rings! But then he said that w-was the issue - he missed the fridge guy's call 'cause he was looking at fucking rings for me and this is why he missed opening night - 'cause the fucking fridge broke! Oh, my God, Danielle, i-i-it's my fault, it's my fucking fault, he missed the most important night of his life and it's my fault - "

You were cut off by your stomach lurching, emptying your insides onto the pavement. The delicious appetizer, the tantalizing main course, Marcus' fresh baked bread that was delightfully soft on the inside yet baked crisp on the outside, and every bit of the sweetened dessert - all wasted on Chicago bricks.

"Okay, okay, ah, shit, just get it out, babe, there you go," Danielle held your hair, catching you in a suffocating hug once you were done puking. "I've got you, babe, I've got you. You're okay, no, hey, this isn't your fault. I've got you, come on. I think we need pints of ice cream and the saltiest pretzels we can find," she pushed some hair from your sticky forehead, pouting dramatically, "maybe some Pepto? Few Saltines and ginger ale? C'mon, we're going back to mine, there's a good girl," she coaxed you from the ground and away from the wall, "c'mon, you're stronger than this. There's my girl, here we go, just one foot in front of the other - together, with me, just like that."

You sobbed, not knowing that Sydney and her father stood listening just a few feet away behind a set of dumpsters.

The moment the freezer's door was open and Carmy was free, he was sprinting around the kitchen to grab his coat, leave Neil in charge of closing, and racing out the door as the Fak Brothers yelled at him for hurting your feelings.

"Hey, hey, hey, Chef! Carmy, wait!" Sydney chased him outside.

"No time!"

"Wait! She went with her friend!"

Carmy came to a tripping halt, catching himself before he hit the pavement before whirling around to approach her, "What?"

"Her friend? She was with some girl tonight?"

"Yeah - yeah, yeah, yeah, uh, um, that's - yeah, that's Danielle," Carmy nodded. "Her best friend, yeah, they were here tonight, sitting with Pete and Sugar."

"Listen, Carmy, I heard them when they left the restaurant... Peach was really upset, like, more upset than I've ever heard, saying you two broke up? Or something? She cried so hard, Carm, she actually threw up, it sounded like she was in genuine distress. I-I didn't know if I should've intervened, but her friend was with her and helping."

"Shit - fuck - Goddamnit," he seethed. "All right, thank you - "

"I doubt they went to your place, I think I heard her friend saying they were going to her apartment."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, great, I know where Dani lives, thanks Syd!" Carmy bid, sprinting in the other direction - never bothering with the public bus system, just running into the night. Sydney was left to sigh on the sidewalk, Neil and Theo joining her before Richie followed - all watching Carmy disappear down the sidewalk.

"He's a fucking idiot," Richie shook his head.

"What the hell even happened?" Syd asked.

"Carmy mouthed off in the walk-in, Peach heard it all," Richie supplied. "You know the dumbass was gonna propose tonight?"

"What?" Syd blinked in shock.

"Yeah," Neil tacked on, "we had a whole plan and everything. Candles, soft music, flowers - there's a bunch of flower bouquets in the walk-in."

"I'm sure that was hard for Carm to look at," Syd sympathized.

"Doesn't excuse whatever he said," Richie snapped. "She looked devastated."

"She cried so hard, she threw up in the alley," Syd frowned.

"How do you know?" Neil asked.

"I heard her," the other chef frowned. "My dad and I - we actually both heard her."

"Jesus fuck," Richie seethed.

"I mean... Should we still set up?" Theo wondered to his brother. "What if they kiss and make up, like always? Carmy might still wanna go through with the proposal, right? You know?"

"Maybe," Neil trailed, looking at Richie.

"I don't fucking know," he sighed, hands on his hips.

"She thinks they broke up, I imagine whatever she heard was pretty nasty," Sydney frowned. "Think they'll really make up tonight?"

"Let's hope," Richie sighed. "That fuckin' idiot isn't gonna find anyone better than Peach. Fuck," he looked around the city street. "All right, fuck it, fine, let's fucking set up. Not like the jackass deserves it, but let's do it for Peach."

Neil and his brother grinned at each other, turning to hustle back into The Bear - leaving Sydney and Richie on the street. No words were exchanged, just silent shakes of their heads before they followed the Faks with the intention to help set up for a proposal nobody even knew if would still happen.

The cold night burned Carmy's lungs, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of suffocation he felt earlier when listening to one of your voicemails while trapped.

Your words were sweet as pie, as they usually were; a voicemail left when you were still at work, but feeling so excited to see him that night that you just had to call him. You reminded him of the adoration and love you held for him, relaying how proud you felt - and that you knew Mikey would be, too. You were always doing that, reassuring Carmy; and maybe that's why he felt so freaked out, he wasn't used to it. Even after almost 7 years together, he just wasn't used to what he didn't know he deserved.

Because Carmy didn't think he deserved anything remotely close to love, understanding, compassion, patience, and / or reassurance.

He had sobbed out loud as he locked his phone, not having the heart to delete your message. He often never did - he liked listening to your voice on long, hard nights; it brought him peace when the world felt too loud. He also kept whatever little notes you left for him, even going as far as to get a few of your hand-drawn hearts tattooed on his forearm. One for each anniversary you've shared together. He realized he never wanted to be without you and all his doubts and fear was him projecting his own incompetence towards this relationship; so, he locked his phone, he didn't delete your message.

The moment the fridge door had been opened, Carmy was out of there, shot off like a Roman Candle - your words of love and understanding still ringing in his ears as he was freed. He needed to apologize, and he needed to apologize right fucking now.

The whole run to Danielle's apartment, Carmy wasn't sure what to say to you; mulling over different ideas in his head. He tried to plan his speech, but the only thing he could think of was how much he loved you and that the ring in his pocket weighed a hundred pounds.

He pounded at Danielle's door. Carmy paced slightly as he waited, knocking frantically, and surely waking the neighbors - but that didn't matter. All that mattered was talking to you, something he was desperate to accomplish. When the door opened, your friend offered a stale look and shook her head, "Nope."

"Dani, please," he halted the closing door, "it's all a misunderstanding, I swear to God, please, just - let me try to fix this. Please, okay? I-I need her - I fucking need her and I have to fix this 'cause she's all that matters, okay? So, let me talk to her - please. Please, Danielle!"

"Yeah? The only thing?"

"More than anyone, more than anything - more than The fucking Bear, I swear to fucking God, Danielle! Just - Just one chance, please. I-I don't know how it all got so fucked, but please, I have to try - "

"Whatever you said in that freezer, Carmen, fucking gutted her, you hear me?" Dani stood in her doorway protectively. "Should've had your ass frozen for the hurt you caused her. How the fuck do you intend on making this right? Huh? It's been almost a fucking decade, dude, if you're seriously still afraid of commitment, just fuck off and leave her alone. Let her walk away 'cause I promise, there's a line of dudes who would love to put a ring on her loyal-ass finger - "

"Please, let me fix this," Carmy begged, sounding close to tears. "I need her, Danielle, please."

"It's okay, D," a voice whispered from behind Danielle, and when she turned, you were revealed - jacket and purse in hand, looking completely exhausted, drained, and disheveled. "I'm just tired, Dani, but we have to talk about this... So, I'll go home with him and call you tomorrow, okay?"

"You sure?"

"It's a decent walk, gives us too much time to talk," you shrugged, refusing to meet Carmy's bloodshot eyes. "Thanks for tonight, sorry I was such a mess," you whispered, hugging your best friend since pre-school.

"Girl, don't you ever apologize to me. But hey, look, I don't know, you were just drowning in your tears, like, five minutes ago. Sure you really wanna go? You can stay here as long as you'd like, girl, fuck him."

"Better to work it out now than later, I guess," you whispered, letting her kiss your cheek and see you guys out.

"She calls me cryin', Carmen, I'll kick your ass," She threatened as you moved down the apartment's hall. You might've snickered just a little, but the amusement was wiped clean when you rounded the corner and came up to the elevators.

Now that it was just you two, it was dreadfully awkward.

"Baby - "

"Just - don't talk for right now, Carmen," you sighed, shaking your head. "I'm still digesting all you said."

He frowned when you walked onto the elevator without a single emotion on your face, following you, and when on the ground floor, moved out to head home. It was quiet, it was awkward; only the sounds of traffic filling the space between you as you walked.

"Listen," he started with a long sigh, "you came in at the worst time, Peach, heard some shit you shouldn't have that I-I didn't even mean. I was just," he paused, sighing, "really angry and frustrated, fucking running my mouth 'cause I didn't know what else to do."

"Sounded like I came in at the best time since you're not very forthcoming with emotions. So, hearing your confession put a lot in perspective for me, Carm."

"I was just angry, Peach," he frowned, hands deep in his pockets. "Felt like I was self sabotaging myself, I wasn't sure what else to feel. So, I just lashed out. I didn't mean it, but I just felt like being angry... So fucking angry, baby, I just - I didn't know what else to feel."

"I don't know if I can be with someone like that," you whispered. "Someone who throws our relationship under the bus when he's angry, someone who's first line of defense is apparently to blame the relationship he's been in for over half a decade with the same girl. Someone you've known your whole life..."

"Peach - "

"If it's that easy for you to just disregard us, I don't think we should continue this."

Carmy took a breath and reached out to pull you to a stop. He dug in his pocket for a moment, then showed you the black velvet jewelry box. "I was gonna propose tonight, when everyone was gone," he explained when you took the box to open gingerly. "I think because that was on my mind already, something I was more than nervous to actually do, you're right, it did become my first line of defense to blame us - not just you, baby, but us. You and me... Mostly me, though," he chuckled sadly. "You're this perfect, sweet angel who just loves me out loud when I don't deserve it, and I'm... I'm just me," he sighed, eyes reddening. "And I know I'm never gonna be enough for you, I think I started to get in my head about if you said no. How I missed the call from Terry about the fridge 'cause I was picking out an engagement ring that you didn't even want, that you rejected - rejected me; and in turn, I missed opening night, and it all just - it got to a boiling point. Look, Peach, it's never been a secret that I don't think I deserve you... But I wanted to be the man that could at least give you an honest try of my best. You've stuck by me the past seven years when you should've ran for the hills, and I knew I wanted us for life years ago - but everything was still so up in the air. So confusing. So fucked up. I figured, after opening tonight, if things went t'plan, I could propose - prove to you that we're on our feet and there weren't any rugs to be pulled."

"What if things didn't go to plan?" You whispered.

"We're kinda living it now," he admitted, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "But even if tonight was all a total failure, I know I might've still done it because it's you, Peach. It's you... I've known for years you're who I want, I just never knew how to do this - to move us forward. You're my first relationship, hopefully my only relationship, and I just didn't know how to advance us. I think when things got real for me, my insecurities crept in, and I just reacted - I didn't think."

"We always said when this wasn't healthy or when this wasn't good for us anymore, we'd walk away," you reminded. "That we'd rather be sad or angry about a breakup instead of letting resentment fester from being together."

"It's still good for me, Peach, we're still good," he whispered, stepping closer. "Is it still good for you? Or did I lose you completely tonight?"

"I don't know, Carmy, you've been lashing out a lot lately. At me specifically."

"And with The Bear now open, I-I should be okay. You know? Back to normal?"

You chuckled dryly, "I see, back to your high walls? Emotional constipation?"

"Then maybe not normal," he corrected, "because I just needed to get us here, to tonight, to opening, and then show you that it's over. Show you that part of our lives is over and we only have more adventures to look forward to. Not ones like this, though," he gestured up the street, your eyes cutting over and realizing you were back at The Bear.

"Do you really think you're a psycho?"

He chuckled, "After tonight? Yeah, pretty convinced... Plus, I, uh, I saw in the freezer the way we're labeling things - and got angry about it. Angry about the way we were tearing tape and labeling things. It was so fucking stupid, but I just - I felt so crazy. I still do, I still feel like my head doesn't make sense and I'm a bit, you know... Crazy."

You nodded slowly, "Then how can you promise me this kinda shit won't happen again?"

"I don't think I can, but I can make you the promise that I am working on it; trying to identify when I feel reactive, trying to calm that down. I'm trying, Peach, I really am - it's just... Taking a lot of time," he sighed sadly. "And I know you don't have any more left to give me."

"I've already given you this many years," you reminded softly, "I think I could spare another or two if it meant you getting your shit together, that you get better, stop feeling so crazy."

"I don't deserve anymore time - "

"I think you need to step back and reevaluate what it means to be deserving because you always say that. That you don't deserve something - even as simple as time. Everyone deserves time and opportunity to figure shit out, Carmy, and you're no exception."

He nodded, "I'm... Trying." He took a long, deep breath, "I'm, uh... Going to meetings, you know, like, uh, Al-Anon and whatever."

"That's good, they're there to help," you nodded, stepping closer to take his hands in yours after closing the ring box and stuffing it back in his pocket. "Now, I think you need to do something."

"Anything, Peach."

"Take my hand, bring me back to The Bear, and go about your plan."

He froze in shock, blinking at you in earnest, "You really mean that?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"No, ma'am, and I think that scares me more."

"You'd rather break up? 'Cause at this point, Carm, we either move forward with this engagement and fucking work our shit out, or we break up. It's been almost a decade. It's your choice, you're the one who was saying he couldn't be someone's husband, that he didn't need to provide anyone nor have them provide you with anything. So, you tell me what you want to do - because all I know is that I love you, I want you for life, but not if you're going to resent me and regret moving our relationship forward. I don't need to get married, Carmy, but you can't keep jerking me around like you have been. So... Make a decision based on what you want - based on what's best for you. Not what's best for us, but put yourself first right now, Carmy, and make a decision about what you want."

With a nod of his head, Carmy cleared his throat and offered you his hand. When he felt you lock your fingers with his, he glanced up and down the street, then lead you across it. Up the sidewalk and to the front door of The illuminating Bear, he paused to produce his keys and then lead you inside.

The lights were dim, but a flip of the switch brightly lit up the newly constructed restaurant. He seemed nervous at your cool demeanor, watching you shed your coat and set your purse down; but his hand took yours again and lead you further into the place. He seemed nervous, but once in the kitchen, it was almost like Carmy's stress melted away.

"I was... I had this plan," he explained softly, leaning on one of the work stations with both hands in yours to keep you in front of him. "I have all these candles, right? Was gonna distract you in here," he looked around the fluorescent lighting, "while Richie, Fak, Tina, and the others set everything up. We'd hang in here after the place was closed down, you know, show you around the completed kitchen. And really casually, I'd ask if you were ready to go, so, we'd go out the front, and we'd walk right into the candlelight..."

"Yeah?" He nodded, thumbs running over your hands as he pushed off the counter. "Don't deviate from your plan now..."

Carmy smirked, "Wanna hear the boring kitchen stuff?"

"Of course, I do."

So, he lead you around in a tour of the kitchen; showing off the new office space that he invited you to take advantage of whenever you wanted. The sleek appliances were shown off, the vast fridges, freezers, new cutlery, state-of-the-art dishwashers. Everything, he showed you, knowing you helped him pick a lot of it out - it was still nice to see it all come together finally.

And then, slowly, he lead you out of the kitchen, but to your honest shock, the dining room was covered in lit candles and different bouquets of thick, gorgeous floral arrangements. "Oh, holy shit," you breathed, Carmy hiding his confusion much better than you.

You came to a slow halt in the middle of the room, the lights out and only leaving the candles to provide an ambiance. "I had this whole speech planned, too," Carmy told you softly. "Remind you of the day we met, how you saved me from those jackass bullies - remember?"

You smiled softly, emotions swirling in your chest, "First day of first grade, you had a Buzz Lightyear backpack and some kids were picking on you 'cause of it."

"And what did you do?"

You felt bashful remembering, but humored him by answering, "Pushed their faces in the mud at recess and made them apologize."

"You've been my best friend since that day," he nodded, bringing you in a few steps closer. "And when we got to high school, my feelings changed. You weren't just my best friend, but the girl I was madly in love with... Took me a couple years to buck up the courage to ask you out officially, though."

"Sure took your sweet time," you whispered with a smile, "but all good things to those who wait, right?"

"And I think you've waited long enough for a man to be who you deserve," he frowned. "All these years - it's been you at my side. You even - fuck - you even came over to Amsterdam for a bit because I was feeling overwhelmed and lonely. Sad, maybe even a little homesick. But you just - you just showed up like it was the most common thing in the world."

You chuckled through your tears, "Yeah, we had some good times on that boat, didn't we?"

He nodded with a softening smile, pushing hair from your face and behind your ear; pausing to hold your cheek carefully. "And when we came back stateside... You were still the only constant presence in my life. You were my family without blood, and I knew after that Christmas that you'd forever be my other half, and I'd spend my life conveying how grateful I am for you. I just - I never knew how to put it into words until now."

"What changed?"

"Realizing that I wanted to marry you years ago - and I should've. I know I shouldn't have drug my feet with us, delay our inevitable, because honestly? I couldn't see my life without you in it and I knew I needed you with me forever. Peach," he frowned, reaching for your other cheek, "we agreed when this wasn't healthy, we'd walk away - I remember that. But I need you to know, I'll never fucking regret you. I'll never resent you. You've been unwaveringly supportive and loving and... And I've been the luckiest man to experience it all. But now," he pushed himself a step closer so he was hovered over your lips, "I know that you deserve someone just as present in this relationship as you are. I knew once The Bear was done, I was done - I was done beating this bush around and wasting time. I knew what I needed to do because the idea of you not being in my life anymore terrifies me more than anything. I don't remember life without you, Peach, and I don't ever want to know what it's like. So," he cleared his throat, "here, in the restaurant I so desperately wanted to give up on so many times, but you always stopped me, I wanted to make this official. I wanted it to be here to show you that the past year of our turmoil - it's fucking over, Peach. We did it," he whispered, "and now, the next and only thing I want to focus on is us."

Carmy readjusted you both for a little bit of space, holding your left hand tightly as he lowered himself to a single knee; looking up at you with those big, wide, sad blue eyes that were growing redder by the passing second. The candlelight created a romantic atmosphere that cocooned you both in a warm embrace, the flowers around you projecting their floral scent.

"So, I need to ask you something real important, baby," he whispered, his throat bobbing to restrain his emotion that clawed up his throat, "because if I don't, I don't think I could breathe again." He cleared his throat, pulling the ring box from his pocket and opening it to present to you officially. "Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N... My sweetest Peach, I've loved you almost my entire life, you're my best friend, my most loyal and sweetest confidant. You make me want to be a man better than I was yesterday and never before have I ever seriously considered marriage - until you. Now? Now, I can't get the idea out of my head, so, my sweet girl," he took another breath, the tears in his eyes swelling and slowly dripping down his cheeks as you slowly got on your knees in front of him, "I need to ask you... W-Would you do me the honor? Of being my wife?"

"Carmen."

He grinned at you, both with tears down your cheeks. "Will you marry me, Y/N? I can't see my life without you in it, so... I want this, I want you for life. Y/N, will you marry me?" He paused, adding a meek little, "Please?" at the end.

With a deep breath, you slowly reached for his cheeks in a soft caress to wipe his tears; both just staring at one another for a good few moments before a face-splitting grin nearly cracked your lips. "Yes," you finally answered, "yeah, yes, yes, of course, I'll marry you, Carmen, yes!"

"Oh, thank fuckin' God," he laughed, letting you lunge forward to knock him backward in a hug - missing the candles arranged in a small circle for you two to stand in. Carmy laughed loudly, happily, giving you a tight squeeze as he mused, "Had my heart beatin' outta my chest for a second there, Peach."

"Oh, please," you laughed, "after all this time, you really thought I'd say no?"

He shrugged meekly, "Thought my most recent fuck-ups would've added to any reasons you might have to say no."

"Oh, spare me - you're my best friend, Carmy, you know I couldn't ever say no to you. Not without puking in nervousness."

"Can we maybe not talk about puke when we just got engaged?"

You laughed and nodded, "Fine, fine, fine, then put the ring on, please."

You presented your left manicured hand, watching Carmy almost giddily removed the band from the box, took a slow, deep breath, and then, the most beautiful ring was being slid onto your finger in an official show of your engagement. Of your undying love. Of your commitment, promises, and future together.

"YEAH!" An array of varying cheers and hollers of support and excitement rang out around you; startling both you and Carmy to look up. Richie, Sydney, Tina, Neil, Theo, Pete, and Sugar all hung in the bathroom's alcove - watching with splitting grins and cheering in celebration.

There was no time to question them as Richie lead the charge over; helping you to your feet for a giant, bear hug before gushing over your engagement ring. Neil and Theo popped one of the authentic bottles of champagne, pouring different flutes for those present.

"Calm down," Natalie scolded Richie lightly, "and move out the way, I want to hug my engaged bestie!"

You squealed with Sugar when her arms wrapped around you tightly, Rich moving on to congratulate Carmy - who apologized for his angry words earlier and thanked them for still setting things up. Richie promised it was for you, not Carmy, but still hugged the little shit with a laugh - indicating he was just joking.

"Let me see!" Natalie grinned, examining the ring Carmy chose and squealing again. "Oh, my God! Oh, it's so pretty! Oh, shit - sisters!" She gasped, holding your hands tightly, "We're going to be sisters - like, officially!"

"Sisters in law, but yeah, cupcake," you beamed at her, wiping your tears and giggling. "I can't - this just doesn't feel real," you told her softly, looking the few feet over to see Carmy with the lads as Sydney stood with you and Sugar. "Him proposing? I genuinely thought it wouldn't happen," you tried to laugh your nerves off, looking at your ring and fiddling with it.

"Yeah, right," Sydney laughed. "I haven't been around that long and even I knew this was gonna happen."

"Oh, please, she's right," Natalie grinned when you went to retaliate, "he first started talking about how he wanted to marry you when he was, like, 15. This has been the longest thing coming."

"Thank you guys for helping," you whispered with a smile. "It's all so beautiful."

"Happy to help for a good cause," Syd smiled, complimenting your ring as Neil called for a toast. Everyone was given flutes of champagne, Carmy's arm wrapping around your waist as each friend gave their own little speech, congratulating you both before the alcohol was being drained.

"Uh, and where are you two going?" Sugar asked about an hour later with a small giggle when Carmy wrapped an arm around your neck after helping you into your coat again.

"Gotta celebrate alone with my fiancé," he smirked, "later, guys! Don't forget to lock up!"

"Carmen!" You scolded with a small laugh, gaping at him.

"What? They got this," Carmy chuckled. "Thanks, you guys, see you tomorrow!"

"We can help clean," you told him as he lead you out of the restaurant.

"Nah, we've got bigger plans," he smirked at you. "Got plenty t'celebrate, yeah? Ever fucked as fiancés before?"

"No - but I hear it's some crazy sex," you whispered, locking your arms around his waist to stay close. Neither of you cared about the bus at this hour, opting to walk home in the cold - not that you felt it. Your love burned brighter than the cold biting your skin.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto fic #carmy x reader #carmen carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x female!reader #carmy berzatto x f!reader #carmy berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x female!reader #carmen berzatto x f!reader #carmy berzatto angst #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #hulu the bear #the bear x reader #the bear x you #the bear imagine #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto fluff

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Okay, fuck it Friday! Thanks for the tags @forthewolves @lover-of-mine @devirnis @rewritetheending @daffi-990! Here is a silly little fic I’m adding to the soft prompts collection!

Eddie pats down his jacket, making sure his wallet hasn’t magically teleported out of it in the hour or two since he took it off.

“The mint kind, dad, remember.”

“I got it.”

There’s the sound of glass clattering in the kitchen, ringing as loud as the laughter that accompanies it. In the living room there’s sudden cheering as one of the kids gets ahead of another in whatever video game they’ve set up. Beside him, Chimney is counting on his fingers.

“It’s-Its, mint kind. Drumsticks. Rocket pops. Bobby wants neapolitan. Those caramel chocolate bar things for Hen and Karen.”

“Are you going to have room in your freezer for all this?” Eddie wonders, thinking about how packed his own freezer is. He should really clean it out. Maybe Buck’ll come over next day off and help. He loves leftovers, and organizing.

“I’m fully expecting everyone to eat themselves sick so it won’t be a problem,” Chim shrugs. “Rocky road for you, yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay.” Chimney squints. “I can’t remember what Buck said.” He squints more specifically in Eddie’s direction, clearly waiting for a response.

And Eddie could say Well, Buck cycles through ice cream favorites every few weeks because he likes to try new things. It’s been white chocolate raspberry recently, but he might be ready to switch it up, it’s been long enough, and the kind he likes is sort of expensive so he would never ask you to get it for him, but that feels like the kind of statement that would get him that sort of raised eyebrow flat mouth look he doesn’t understand so he goes with “Uh, I’ll ask.”

Buck is leaning on the counter sandwiched between Hen and Bobby, half full drink in his hand entirely forgotten and listing a little dangerously to the left as he listens to Karen talk about a new project at work. He’s smiling like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, and his eyes are wide in the way they get when he’s absorbed in a story, and Eddie doesn’t want to interrupt but his son has no such qualms.

“Buck, are you gonna come take your turn on mario kart? Nobody can beat May.”

Buck’s smile turns into his Christopher smile, wide and eyes crinkly. “I’ll be there in a minute, bud. Save rainbow road for me.”

“Buck, what ice cream did you want?”

Buck’s attention flicks over to him. “Oh, I’ll just take one of the drumsticks or something.” A beat or two passes while Eddie makes an unimpressed face and Buck laughs, ducking his head. “Fine, I’ll- uh, if they have something coffee flavored that looks good I’ll take that.”

“Alright-“

“Oh, Eddie, while you’re there will you pick up more Doritos?” Maddie asks, waving cheesy fingers over an empty bowl.

“Sure.”

“Ooh, and barbecue chips?” Hen asks, head tilted to the side imploringly.

“Yeah, okay-“

“If you get an avocado or two I think there’s everything to make guacamole,” Bobby says thoughtfully.

“Uh-“

Buck grins at him. “I’ll text you a list.”

“Thank you,” Eddie grins back, and then turns to Chris. “Alright mijo, we’ll be back in a bit.”

“Okay,” Chris says. “And can you get butter popcorn?”

“They’ve got the kernel kind, and a popper and everything.”

“I like the microwave kind,” Chris says, pouting a little. “It’s a party, dad.”

Eddie snorts, but also immediately gives in. “Fine. See you in a minute with your nasty popcorn, sir.”

He leans down to kiss Chris' forehead, leans up to kiss Buck, pats his pocket one more time (wallet still there) and then heads down the hallway. Chimney is standing there frozen, so Eddie steps around him towards the door. He’s probably trying to think of his own chip preference, like he’s not as big of a Doritos fan as Maddie is. Eddie wonders if the corner store they’re going to will have the salt and vinegar chips Buck likes-

Buck-

Eddie feels a strange sensation like all his muscles locking up for a moment, before he slowly turns around.

“What did I… just… do?”

Chimney — who, there it is, he’s making the face, eyebrows raised and mouth flat, though it looks slightly more hysterical than usual — shakes his head and throws up his hands in a shrug. Helpful. Eddie stumbles the few steps back towards the kitchen. Buck is talking to Karen now, though everyone else in the room is also making the face with varying levels of giddy intensity. When Bobby sees Eddie come back in the room he has to hide his expression behind his glass of orange juice.

“-never knew that worms played such an important part in-“ Buck’s voice suddenly squeaks to a halt mid sentence, and he whips around to stare open mouthed at Eddie in the doorway. “Did- did you?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie nods, eyebrows furrowed. “Is that- uh. Is that okay?”

“Y- yeah, Eddie- yeah.”

Buck moves towards him and Eddie is pulled in his direction like a magnet. They meet in the middle of the kitchen and grab each other’s hands. Eddie is vaguely aware of Maddie’s muffled giggling somewhere to his right, but it doesn’t seem to matter very much at the moment.

“Should-" Buck looks and sounds absolutely confused, and is clinging tight to his hands. "Should we get married?”

“What?” Eddie laughs, remembering the time he’d held Julia Stanton’s hand in kindergarten and she’d told him that meant they were husband and wife. “I- we only just-“ but, suddenly, he imagines it. Being married to Buck. Waking up to him every day, and doing taxes together. It’s all he wants, it’s what he wants more than anything. “Okay,” he says, nodding his head in a frantic yes. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Oh, lord,” Bobby laughs in the background, setting his glass on the counter so he can rest his hands on his knees. Hen rubs his back, other hand covering her face as she tries not to lose it.

“Yeah?” Buck asks, looking stunned, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Yes, I’d- I want- you’re beautiful.” Eddie lets go of one of Buck’s hands — oh, he thinks he’d like to hold his hand forever, why did they never do this before — and puts his palm on Buck’s cheek, tracing under his eye with his thumb. “I gotta go get ice cream first though.”

“Oh my god,” says Karen, voice strangled.

“I’ll go with you,” Buck decides, but then Chimney is there with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Oh no,” he says, “We let the two of you go and we’ll lose you in the night, and then there will be no ice cream and the children will riot.”

“You’re the one who was demanding drumsticks in the first place,” Eddie points out, not even looking away from Buck’s face.

“And I will join the mob with the pitchforks. Let’s go, lover boy.” Chimney leans over to pat Buck's arm. "I promise I'll get your- jesus, are we accepting that as an actual proposal- yeah? Okay- I'll get your fiancé back swiftly and in one piece."

Eddie can do nothing but grin dumbly back at Buck as Chimney all but drags him outside. There are stars out, sort of, as many as you ever get in a city as big as Los Angeles, and Eddie feels a strange urge to write poetry about them.

"Did you know I was in love with him?"

"Had a pretty good idea," Chim says, voice strained.

"Why didn't I know that?"

Chimney hacks a cough into his elbow. "I- I really couldn't possibly answer that."

It's taking Eddie a tremendous amount of effort to put one foot in front of the other in the right order. "I feel like I'm drunk."

Chimney claps him on the shoulder. "You're going through a lot of change."

Eddie thinks about it for a moment. "No, I'm not."

“Hm?”

Chimney spins around to face Eddie as he stops walking all together. “It’s… I mean, we might get to kiss now,” Eddie says, pulse suddenly feverish as he considers that for a few seconds. He shakes his head to get back on track. “But… It’s Buck. Haven’t… I mean… It’s always been like this. My life is his already.”

Chimney is making a new face now, still a smile but it’s twisted up sideways and his eyes are a little watery. He throws his head back with a wet scoffing sound and hooks his arm through Eddie’s, tugging him along again. “Well, what the fuck, I’m stupidly happy for you. Unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” Eddie laughs, leaning into him a little. “Oh shit, I- I have to get a ring.”

Chimney cackles into his shoulder. “Might be a difficult find at the corner store, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled.”

When they stagger through the doors of the 24 hour market a few blocks from Maddie and Chimney’s place the bored clerk looks at them like they are drunk, and Eddie tries to take a few steadying breaths. “I’ll get ice cream, you grab snacks?”

Chimney nods, and they split up. Eddie stares down at the freezer and tries to remember any list of anything he’s ever learned in his life before his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Buck 8:43 PM Mint It’s-Its, drumsticks, rocket pops, neapolitan, caramel bars, rocky road, coffee ice cream?, Doritos, barbecue chips, avocados (and tortilla chips please), microwave popcorn

Buck 8:44 PM also I didn’t say it but I love you Eddie

Buck 8:44 PM sorry I should have waited for you to get back to say it maybe but

Buck 8:45 PM I just wanted you to know it. I didn’t want there to be any more time where you didn’t know it.

Eddie’s breath catches somewhere between lungs and throat. He’s standing close enough to the freezer box that he can feel it’s hum in his knees, or maybe that’s just Buck.

“Hey, Diaz.”

Eddie turns in time to catch the small package Chimney tosses at him. Peach rings. Eddie laughs a little helplessly.

Eddie 8:47 PM i am going to be back so soon and tell you in person but me too buck

Eddie grabs all the ice cream in record time if anyone ever recorded the time for such things, and the rest of the trip feels like a race. He taps his foot as the poor clerk scans everything while shooting him vaguely unimpressed looks, and he’s at least a few feet ahead of Chimney the whole walk back. Finally, the door, finally the hallway, finally Eddie is bursting back into the kitchen. Buck is standing with Bobby’s arm around his shoulders and Chris leaning against his side and he looks lit up with happiness, smile practically glowing. Eddie feels an answering one on his own face.

“Here,” he says, holding the ice cream bag out sideways and hoping someone will take it. Karen does, with a snort. “Oh, uh, wait-“ Eddie leans over to dig for the bag of gummies, grabbing his prize and grinning at her. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she laughs, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before starting to dig out the ice cream for distribution.

When Eddie looks up Buck has moved to stand in front of him. “Hi.”

Buck ducks his head like his smile is too heavy to hold it up anymore. “Hi, Eds.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the half step necessary to press close to him all over. “Hey, I love you. I love you, too. I didn’t realize, but I absolutely do.”

Buck laughs, what a wonderful sound, and wipes his eyes with one hand. “I love you so much, Eddie.”

“Okay!” Laughter goes up around them. “Okay, I have-“ Eddie tears open the plastic, fishes out a single peach ring. “It’s the best I could do short notice.”

“What…” Buck looks down at the candy, and then starts laughing and crying harder as Eddie grabs his hand and does his best to roll the gummy circle onto his ring finger. “Wait, I- I was the one who proposed.”

“There’s a whole bag of them,” Eddie says, waving it around. “You wanna-“

“Yeah, uh huh-“ Buck takes a peach ring of his own, slides it onto Eddie’s finger, and it’s truly ridiculous but even in this Buck treats him so gently, cradling Eddie’s hand like it’s a precious thing. It makes Eddie feel a little lightheaded. The sugar of the gummy is gritty against his skin, and he has to hold his fingers weird to accommodate the bulk of it, but Buck is looking at them like they’d just exchanged diamonds, and Eddie isn’t sure he’s ever been in a more perfect moment. But then Buck leans down and Eddie moves forward and they’re kissing, really kissing, Buck’s arms sliding around his waist like they’re meant to fit there and Eddie cradling his face between his hands, and Chris shouts in delighted disgust and there’s cheering and more laughter around them, and Eddie thinks, stunned, that he might get a life of perfect moments with this man.

They are surrounded by friends and family, so Buck pulls back before either of them can really get lost in each other. “You’re sure?” He whispers. “You don’t have to- I was just- you actually want to get married?”

“Yes,” Eddie says immediately. “And also come home, please. Every day, like- move in with me. You don’t have to use the couch.”

Chimney snorts behind them. Buck nods, and they’re close enough that his nose almost pokes Eddie in the eye. “Yeah, yeah- I wanna come home.”

Eddie kisses him again — perfect, the way their lips fit together is perfect — and then looks for Chris. “Hey, mijo, you wanna have a sleepover?”

“Sure,” Chris says, “With who?”

“Uh.” Eddie cranes to look around Buck at anyone else in the room.

“We’ll take him,” Hen says, raising a hand and looking extremely amused and entirely fond.

“With Denny,” Eddie says to Chris.

“Okay,” Chris says, crunching his face up. “I don’t want to be there if you’re going home to make out.”

“We absolutely are,” Eddie says, as Buck sputters a little. He disentangles himself from Eddie and crouches in front of Chris.

“Chris… I just want to make sure this is okay with you. I- I love your dad very much, and I love you so much, and if it makes you uncomfortable-“

“Buck,” Chris says, slightly exasperated, as he wraps his arms around his shoulders in a hug. “I love you, too. And I kind of thought you were married for awhile when I was little, so you’re just catching up.”

“Oh,” Buck says, watery. “Yeah?”

“You take care of us,” Chris says, leaning back to look at him. “And you’re at our house all the time.”

Buck laughs, and Eddie’s lungs stutter along with him. “Well, okay then. I’ll keep doing both of those things. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good,” Chris says, already looking towards the living room. “Are you going to play Mario kart, now?”

“Uh,” Buck says, looking up at Eddie. “Is it okay if I take a rain check on that?”

Chris heaves a sigh. “Fine, but you better practice for next time. May still hasn’t lost.”

“And I’m not going to!” She calls from the other room. “Also, congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Buck and Eddie call together. Buck gives Chris another hug, and Eddie squeezes him tight as he makes his way to the living room.

“Bye, Superman. We’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

Buck takes his hand again. Eddie wants to kiss him again, but he thinks once he starts he might never stop. “Anybody mind if we duck out early?” He asks the room at large, fully planning on backing out the door no matter what the answer is.

Chimney pats his arm. “Please for the love of god leave my home.”

“Got it,” Eddie says, pulling a giggling Buck towards the door.

“Paperwork!” Bobby calls. “Monday! And don’t get married until I can get everyone the day off!”

“I-“ Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes, kisses him once on the cheek because they’re in the hallway and no one can see them anymore probably. “I’m not gonna make any promises about that.”

“Wait-“

“Bye!” Buck calls, cheerfully, and then they’re out on the front porch.

And, well, they’re really out of sight of the others now, so Eddie pulls him down for another kiss, intent on finding out what his molars taste like, but then the door is opening again.

“Gross,” Chimney says. “Take your ice cream with you.”

Rocky road and coffee, still cold but getting warmer, land not entirely gracefully in Eddie’s arms. The door closes again. “I told him he wouldn’t have freezer room. These are gonna melt.”

Buck takes his tub, grinning a mile wide. “We better get home quick, then.”

“For the ice cream,” Eddie nods, cheeks hurting with his smile.

“Yep.” Buck says. “The ice cream.”

They clasp their free hands together, and then, breathless and laughing, run to the car.

It’s kind of late but if anyone is still around and has stuff to post (you could also consider this as being tagged for inspiration Saturday if you want) @callaplums @shortsighted-owl @buckactuallys @shitouttabuck @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @bigfootsmom @henswilsons @homerforsure

#buddie #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 abc #my writing #goofy!! they’re goofy!!!!

[l4long-winded]

mad carmy with sassy reader that doesn’t take his shit!!! (smut!)

ask and you shall receive (happy valentine's day, love)

o.s. fire in the freezer

summary: it's opening night and you're stuck inside the walk-in with your boss, carmen. can the night get any worse? (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this took me embarrassingly long. i had a lot to get through these past weeks. i still have a busy schedule with college and life, but i want to do more of these. i have about 3 or 4 prompts i need to get to, but i think i'll be able to manage. also, this might be ooc for some people? idk, it's fiction. please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: cursing, longwinded descriptions, angry!carmy, angry!reader, takes place during the season 2 finale (pretending claire doesn't exist), implied enemies to lovers, reader's pov, reader is a line cook(?), arguing, surprise kissing, walk-in shenanigans, dirty talk, mention of fridge guy, use of the word "slutty," walk-in p in v, unprotected (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,140

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

“What the fuck did you just say?”

It’s alarming how crimson his face appears considering the walk-in’s cold air biting at both your limbs, how you imagine the rising heat of his breath combats the freezer’s chill, puffs relaying the steam building within him. It’s a miracle it doesn’t fume from his ears. Fifteen minutes have passed, fifteen minutes of remaining silent as Carmen mouthed off about the unfairness of the situation, how his cell phone doesn’t have service, how he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on out there when your coworkers have seemingly abandoned the both of you to fend for yourselves. You don’t blame him. You don’t want to be in here any more than he does, but there’s this wretched thing about Carmen that he does when tensions are high and his temper flies off the handle. He gets mean. He becomes hurtful. You’ve worked with him long enough to see it occur, the venomous speech he mutters at a high volume as a tendon in his neck protrudes and the person being yelled at flinches in shock. Though such poison’s never been doused over your head, he’s never directed that anger towards you.

Until now. He inadvertently called you an idiot along with the coworkers busying themselves outside the walk-in. There’s not much they can do about the freezer’s handle breaking, and you both know that, but he’s not calming himself down, nor is he making this easier on you when you’re stuck in the same situation as him. You two are prideful and confident in your actions in the kitchen. Sure, you’ve butted heads a few times and stared each other down from afar, but your relationship’s been tame for the most part.

“I said, ‘Stop acting like a fucking cunt.’” You bark back. So much for being tame. You couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. Everyone has the grace and privilege of being able to ignore him since he’s locked away here with you, but unfortunately, you’re not as lucky. You don’t appreciate being talked down to and you won’t take it from your boss just because he’s irate and the world is crumbling beneath your feet. You want to head out there and contribute to the restaurant as he does, but you’re also not spewing hateful soliloquies to the one person who could possibly understand what you’re going through. That, and it’s fucking cold in here, you’re irritated by the temperature frosting over your skin. It’s opening night and you’re stuck with your least favorite person in the kitchen—your least favorite person possibly in Chicago. The last thing you’re going to do is sulk near the stored ingredients while he shouts and pounds away at the freezer’s door.

This is his fucking fault. How fucking dare he? Why are you paying for his sin?

Just as it did the first time, the second time renders him, miraculously, speechless. It’s not because he doesn’t have anything to reply back, this is evident in how he purses his lips together and clenches his jaw. You notice it flex as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, previously hidden by the collar he’s now unbuttoned. He stares at you with a pointed gaze, eyebrows ever so slightly knitted inwards. Neither of you has to utter a single word to understand how much you can’t fucking stand each other, how Carmen is purposely holding back since you’ve caught his petulant tantrum and condescended him for it. The absence of sound between you two is grim as if he’s waiting for the apology, but fuck him, you’re not apologizing for shit. Instead, you mimic his facial expression like he’s staring into a mirror, crossing your arms against your chest for good measure to illustrate the guard he won’t be breaking through anytime soon.

Carmen steps forward. It’s a singular step. There’s only backwards to go before you end up meeting the shelves, so you remain where you are. His body heat radiates, prominent not because you’re that close, but because the freezer’s becoming more unforgiving the longer you’re both in here.

“Say it again,” he breathes.

You blink rapidly as if he’s a mirage, as if he’ll disappear, and as if he’s grown two other heads. He wants you to say it again? Is this some kind of a test? It has to be. There aren’t many other options, besides how he steps even closer within your vicinity and away from the locked palisade ahead. The temperature rises, and the fucked part about it is that your body’s instinctual need to survive urges you to collide into his frame to share feverish flames instead of standing in the chilled atmosphere on your lonesome. Carmen’s mandibles buckle, a sign of his bottled intentions, of what he really wants to say. You wish he’d just spit it out rather than goad you into the unemployment line.

“Call me a cunt again,” he dares and confirms your previous thoughts. He’s standing so close, proximity lacking to the point where his hot breath ghosts your nose and cheeks. Again, your instincts urge, and again, you will them to shut the fuck up and let me handle this. How convoluted and capricious you are. Arguing with innate impulses on the inside while arguing with your superior on the outside, fastened to him inside an icy cage as your coworkers take advantage of the kitchen’s liberating space without you. Fuck them too, they haven’t told either of you shit in what feels like forever and Carmen’s acting out of character. He’s not supposed to be with you like this. He’s not supposed to be gazing at you like he’s about to blow up. He’s not supposed to be challenging you into an impossible situation. You’ve called him a cunt twice. Twice. Three times symbolize the three strikes before you’re out.

Well, if you’re going out, you’re going down swinging your bat as hard as you can, spins and all, dirt flying and wind ricocheting. He’s thrown his virulence. Now, it’s your turn.

“Cun—nnnmph,” is not what you expected to utter, but before you could punctuate that final phoneme, Carmen’s mouth swallowed it greedily, and transitioned it into an astonished noise muffled by his lips. Your eyes flutter, searching his face for a way to explain why the hell this is happening, but suddenly, Carmen shifts his head, the kiss he’s sprung on you deepening, and an accidental swipe of his tongue shuts your eyes. All in a matter of two conflicted seconds.

“Thought you,” you murmur between his stifling, repeated connections, “wanted me to,” he’s practically shoving his tongue against yours, “call you a–”

He grunts in frustration. Seemingly towards you. His hands grasp your biceps, forcing your eyes onto his as his breathing shallows out. “Believe me, it won’t be the only time you put a cunt in my mouth tonight,” he says sharply. You don’t know why your thighs tremor. You fault the near-hypothermia.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he states the obvious as his attention turns to his palms on your arms, as if he didn’t just plant such a filthy image in your mind’s eye. His thumbs stroke over your goosebumps, examining your skin with careful scrutiny. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you see worry cross his visage for a moment. His hands aren’t any better, but they’re warmer than your flesh, and skin-to-skin makes this situation a little more bearable. You won’t tell him that, but he seems to have an idea of how you’re not flinching away from his touch. In fact… you’re leaning into it.

“Of course I am. It’s the walk-in,” you say sarcastically. “Wouldn’t be here if you had just called Tommy,” you add, but he exhales a heavy breath through his nose. He shrugs off his jacket to his Chef’s Whites, rolling his eyes, muttering something to himself about Tony, Terry, and Tommy, fucking fuck it all.

“Shut the fuck up, put this on, and turn around,” he hands you the jacket. He had the prerogative of wearing sleeves in here, so he’s not as frigid as you are (temperature-wise, anyway).

“It’ll keep you warm while I fuck you,” he promises, hard gaze on your eyes. You gulp, a desire within you to tell him off for being so presumptive of what’s happening here. Yet, that desire is viciously censored in favor of the desire to do as he says, or more so, the idea of being railed to distract you from how cold you are.

You slip his jacket on, pivoting on your heel, biting your tongue as you lean forward and grasp the metal belonging to the shelves ahead. The inside of his sleeves are already snug and cozy on your arms because of how long he wore it. You hate it. The smug bastard’s not supposed to be right.

You gulp as Carmen’s knuckles graze your lower back, lifting his jacket out of his way for a moment to tug at the waistband of your pants. You hear his breathing stutter, his hand skimming down the sensitive flesh of your ass as his eyes trace over the thin fabric of the panties you chose today.

“Is your underwear always this slutty?” He asks, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. To be fair, you didn’t know this would be happening today.

“Find out tomorrow,” you settle for. It seems to be the appropriate response because he groans and kneads at the flesh gathered at your hip as an appreciative gesture. This won’t be the last time this happens. It can’t be.

There’s rustling behind you. You hear the sound of Carmen’s belt before you feel the cold metal prod at the meat of your posterior, sent forward since he’s not fully tugging the leather material from the loops of his pants. It’s just enough for him to get at his zipper, the noise causing your hands to grip the shelves ahead of you even tighter. Carmen’s thumbnail slides along your skin as he tucks his thumb under your panties to position them to the side. The blunt head of him strokes at your entrance, his opposite hand pushing between your shoulder blades to exacerbate the bend at your hips and the pretty dip in your spine.

“You’re really hard for a man who’s surrounded by this much cold,” you mutter smugly. It’s all your doing, revving up his engine through simply challenging him amid his grizzly attack.

However, the smugness dies on your tongue once Carmen pushes in. He didn’t offer you a smartass response, instead offering you the breach of his length, the swollen head of him prying at your soaked walls up until his hips are flush with yours. Your trembling returns and it’s no longer because of the cool air, but because Carmen begins to thrust the second your cunt gives to him. Wrath fades from your mouth, and a moan replaces it, indicating your lust and enjoyment from this, much to your own dismay.

“M’this hard because I was thinking about how fucking warm you’d be around me,” he grunts, leaning over you and jostling you with his strong movements. His pace isn’t brutal, but the pressure of each of his thrusts is. He pulls back and then buries himself as deep as he could go, the sounds of his effort being in the way his hips collide with the flesh of your ass, a smack every time he hits it just right. And fuck, does he hit it just right. The horrible thing is it’ll stroke his massive ego. The great, amazing, toe-curling thing is that it feels like nirvana. The tip of his cock becomes acquainted with a pivotal point within you that has your vision blurred, unable to make out a single label of the cans and containers in front of your face.

“H-how warm is it?” You manage. Somehow. Conversation isn’t your prerogative while you’re bent over and being receptive, gasping for air every time you attempt to shift your hips back into him and he surpasses another inch inside of you. But you’re curious.

“Like a damn furnace,” he answers quickly, increasing his pace just as fast as the sentence leaves his mouth. “Tighter than I imagined,” he confesses, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. Your feet shuffle apart, legs spreading further for him as you pant and do your best not to whine. You can’t give him that satisfaction.

But it’s no use. His name shoots off your tongue like a prayer, a Freudian slip, his middle finger stroking along your clit in time with his bruising plunges.

“Wet, so, so fucking wet,” he continues, “drenching me and setting me on fire at the same fucking time.”

Fuck, you hope they never open that door.

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #the bear fic #the bear #fire in the freezer #l4l.oneshot

[devotion]

only you | p.p

summary: peter needs you after his patience snaps.

w/c: 1.1k+ | p.p masterlist

warnings: swears? tiniest bit of angst, fluff (should fluff really be a warning tho?)

prompts: kitchen counter make-outs | “i’ve had a terrible day at work so just kiss me”

notes: when i read this before continuing this wip after so so long, i realised that it was inspired by a spidey/venom comic i read in march/april so... idk which one it was but hopefully you don’t need much context. also, i love (v)eddie, but for the purpose of this blurb.... i do not. (i do.)

・──・──────── ⋆✦⋆ ────────・──・⁣⁣

peter’s hot-headed, irate and enervated whilst a throbbing headache troubles him.

there are a number of conspicuous changes in his behaviour that you notice instantly when he’s like this; along with his clenched jaw, his fist closed into a tight ball has his upper arm bulging out of his t-shirt, and one specific vein more prominent than ever, you would go out your way to consider that this attitude in some way is lewd. but not when he has the super-strength to punch through the wall with his bare hands and you both have to suffer the consequences of it.

it’s more than evident when you see the steam emitting from his ears, as his figure storms through the front door. peter’s composure only seems to settle the slightest bit when he turns around to lock it. his arm then rests on the doorframe, followed by his head.

he comes through to the living room of your usually humbling home that you two share, rips his bag off his shoulder and throws it off to the far end of the room, whereupon you hear a tear from behind him as he does so. a series of cracks sound after his bag hits the wall. it makes you cringe badly.

by the looks of it, not only has he tore the wallpaper, but he’s cracked the wall behind.

peter, realising what he’s just done, begins to blurt out to apologise, “i-”

“—no. just... water first,” you cut him off, leaving to the kitchen to fetch a glass.

rubbing the back of his neck as he pads to the kitchen, he sees you fill it with the water filter once he’s there. your eyes dart towards him in the doorway, moving to go get some ice from the freezer.

you’re surprised he’s simmered down so quickly, but you know him best — he isn’t one to be enraged for too long. now that he’s caused damage to the wall in the living room, he definitely shouldn’t be anyway.

when you give him it, he’s relocated to the counter behind you, accepting the glass when you offer him it.

peter mumbles a thank you before drinking, then waits for a moment or two for you to meet his gaze. after downing it whole, a hand finds yours, causing you to look up. he maintains eye contact whilst he starts with, “i’m sorry, baby. i really am.”

your eyebrows raise to indicate that he explains further. his shoulders slump.

“he’s pissing me off,” he admits, voice tremulous, “so so much, y/n.”

“who?” you squeeze his hand.

“you know...” he replies, before you squint an eye, tilting your head ever so slightly to indicate that you, in fact, don’t know. “eddie...” peter comes out with before he sighs, “it’s eddie.”

your mouth turns in an ‘o’ as he hands you back the glass. he’s mentioned a friend that he’s known for a long time, but the problem is that he’s become somewhat of an adversary as of recently. a walking havoc, new york thinks, and a hulking and distorted version of your boyfriend’s alter-ego.

“he does everything he can to show me that i’m some kinda wimp to not have done anything about kasady,” he observes in annoyance, “in every. possible. way.”

“he’s gonna let it go some day, pete,” you try to convince him, to no avail since he begins to roll his eyes and replies with, “it’s been 3 months. he’s even got a job at the bugle.”

he contemplates loudly, “he killed him though, so what’s left?” he laughs before shaking his head, “stupid bastard.”

“weren’t you once friends with said bastard?” you tease.

“and i fought tooth and nail to get him away from me when he sabotaged everything we had: our trust.”

and with that, peter’s reminded of the relentless ordeal he's having to endure with eddie. it must be the nonsensical alien in his mind.

“no way am i letting you talk to him.”

too late. you met at a party weeks ago.

“wasn’t fucking gonna anyway,” you huff, having no intention to in the first place, “he’s like a smidge hot but he’s not...” you move your hands in an attempt to try to explain what you’re about to say, mouth fumbling for the right words, continuing instead with: “you know, a hero, if you will.”

“yeah,” he smirks mockingly, tongue clicking against his cheek, “hero, my ass.”

he thinks about the thing that’s nagging him, one that eddie confessed to him just half an hour ago. he trusts you, with everything and anything, but the image of eddie sweeping up your feet torments him.

you’re noticing his demeanour again, shifting to what seems to be more angry, “that bad, huh? i—”

“—he likes you!”

startled, your eyes meet his — seeing him look down and away; poor peter thinks that you knowing that will ever change your feelings for him, that eddie has a chance with you. it’s all a ruse. why would you ever think of doing so, when you have the paragon of a boyfriend right in front of you, in your heart and forevermore?

then your hands proceed to his shoulders to gain his attention, letting them rest there before you rub them.

“peter, i know.”

“look, i don’t li- wait... what? how?” his eyebrows relax, eyes softening. it was stupid thinking you hadn’t bumped into him yet.

there’s a few moments of silence as he gazes at you, unnecessary insecurities gnawing at him briefly before he lets it go to ask in a whisper: “why didn’t you tell me?”

“because he means shit to me, sweetheart,” you urge, “i don't have an ounce of love for him, i don’t see him that way.”

the jealousy vanishes into thin air as you say that, leaving him feeling feeble-minded that he ever even thought about eddie with you. you continue to reassure him, “better yet, i’ve never really thought about it. you shouldn’t either.”

“fine,” he nods, sighing, “i’m so-”

“stop apologising, pete, just... forget about it, it’s okay.” you bring his head towards your chest, and he nestles in the midst of it.

all until he grabs the underside of your thighs, spinning you a hundred and eighty degrees so your bum sits comfortably on the counter.

he beseeches you, “i’ve had a terrible day, though, so just please... please kiss me.” he pouts. “tell me i’m yours, baby.”

your palm rests against his cheek, grinning, “you’re mine, pete. always have been, always will be.”

when your lips meet his, he smiles into it instantly, the ache in his heart recovering. his arms embrace you whole as he leans into you, desperate, and you taste nothing but the burning kick inviting on his tongue. it tells you only one thing, which only you’re able to discern as such.

you pull away, wiping the moisture that’s evident next to his mouth. “upstairs?”

he nods fervently.

・──・──────── ⋆✦⋆ ────────・──・⁣⁣

#woohoo did u miss me (i did too) #devotion writes #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagines #peter parker x you #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker tom holland #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #y/n #peter parker and reader #marvel #mcu #peter parker blurb #since it technically is

[anonymousangstmonster]

Prompt #73 “I don’t like this anymore”

(In a universe where Danny turned half-ghost at a younger age and the Fentons know and help him with it.)

The Fentons build a walk-in freezer n the lab to lock Danny into when his ice core is unstable.

It was usually a calming experience every time he was in there; but one day he was acting violent and malicious, so they had to cuff him just to get him in there, and left him tied down in the freezer for about a day until they could see he was calm again through the security camera inside.

The whole time he was alone with his thoughts and was thinking that his parents left him in there and were never coming back, that he was all alone.

He never really liked the freezer after that.

#Danny Phantom #writing #writing prompt #Danny Phantom writing prompt #DP #writing idea #dp writing #fic #fic prompt #fic idea #DP fic #DP fic prompt #DP writing #DP writing prompt #AnAnMo’s DP writing ideas #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #lab rat #lab rat au

[wintaerbaer]

icebreaker (jhs)

summary: When you get stuck in a walk-in freezer with your work nemesis, he has a rather...unconventional idea to ensure the two of you get through it without being frostbitten.

pairing: Hoseok x Reader

rating: generally sfw (mentions of ass and boobs though)

genre: enemies to ??

word count: 1.3k

prompt: Hobi + "Would you for once stop being a bitch!" + close quarters trope (for @animeniacss! <3)

MASTERLIST

The metal of the door is painfully cold against your fingers where you scramble at it, desperately trying to force it open.

It should be unsurprising–given that you’re literally in a walk-in freezer–but the panic setting in at the prospect of being trapped in here (and with him no less) is absolutely scrambling your brain.

No, no, no, no. This cannot be happening.

“It’s stuck?” Even the mere sound of his voice makes your blood boil on cue. If he keeps it up, you could probably survive in here indefinitely.

“Nooooo.” You draw it out as sarcastically as you can, pairing it with a dramatic eye roll for maximum snark. “I’m keeping us here for fun. Because there is nothing I would rather do than be locked in a freezer with your stupid ass.”

Hoseok levels an annoyed look your way but doesn’t respond, sidling up to try the door himself. It doesn’t budge even a hair, and he pulls back with a shake of his hands, trying to circulate heat back into them. “Shit.”

This being a shit situation might be the first thing you’ve ever agreed on. Ever since you both started working at the restaurant a year ago, you as a waitress and he as a bartender, you’ve been at odds–trading verbal jabs, dirty looks, and loathing the times when, like now, you either open or close together.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what started it at this point.

Your breath comes out in a thick cloud, fogging the space between you. “When is Namjoon coming in?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs at his arms; the thin, black cotton of his button down is likely doing close to nothing as far as warmth goes. “Maybe fifteen minutes?”

“How long does it take for frostbite to set in?”

“Why the fuck would I know that?!”

The annoyed expression he aims at you is downright lethal, and you find yourself jumping on the defensive. “That big, dumb brain of yours has to be good for something, right?”

His eyelids drop, disappointment painting his face more than anything. “Wow. Good one.” But somewhere in his posture, you think you might see…

Hurt?

No. No chance.

He whips out his phone, holding it up towards the ceiling as he peers at the screen. “I don’t have any service, do you?”

A tiny “x” sits in the corner of your phone where there should be bars. “Nothing.”

The vapor of his own breath billows between you as he turns, inspecting the confines of the freezer. “Do you think there’s a hole or something you could squeeze through?”

“What?! Why me?!”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in here!” he exclaims, raising the pitch of his voice in a poor, hyperbolic imitation of yours. “Waaahhhh, Hoseok, I can’t reach the bins on the top shelves because I’m short!”

“I am not squeezing through a hole,” you sneer. “You’re just looking to get a nice view of my ass.”

He laughs, but the tips of his ears go pink, too quickly to be from the cold. “You wish.”

With no other options for escape, you try the door again, bracing your shoulder against it and leveraging all of your weight. Hoseok quickly joins in, pressing both of his hands at the space next to you, biceps bulging.

The two of you fall back with a huff when the door continues to refuse any kind of movement. You shiver, curling your arms around yourself as he frowns.

“What do we do now?” you ask.

He sighs. Runs a hand through his dark hair. “I guess we have to wait it out.”

“We’re going to fucking freeze.”

“I…” He falters, gazing at you with nervous eyes. “I saw this thing one time. Tips on staying warm in subzero temperatures…”

His eyes fall to the floor, and you snap your fingers at his hesitation. “And?”

He gulps, shifting on his feet. “Skin-to-skin contact.”

“No!” you shout. “No, no, no, no. Now you’re just trying to get my clothes off.”

A toss of his hands as he groans in exasperation. “Would you for once stop being a bitch?!”

You feel yourself flush at his use of the word, hot rage climbing up the threads of your veins. If you had a dime for every time you’ve taken a verbal shot at each other, you’d actually be able to afford to see your favorite band in concert. But never, until now, has he dared to call you a bitch.

“Look, I know it must be hard having to go through every minute of your life with an entire tree up your ass,” you snap, “but that doesn’t give you the right to call me a bitch, asshole.”

He flinches, the movement rippling its way through his body like he’s resetting–teeth clenching and joints stiffening before he sheepishly rests his hand on the back of his neck.

“Look, I’m…sorry. Okay? You’re right. That was out of line.”

Suddenly, you’re not frozen because of the literal freezer you’re standing in, but because you never thought you’d hear those words leave his mouth.

He’s sorry?

“I know we got off on the wrong foot and that you hate me, but I am truly just trying to look out for both of us here.” He nods his chin at you, a hint of cavalier mirth slipping back into his expression. “That being said, I need you to take off your shirt.”

You’re still incredibly suspicious, but his apology has taken you off-guard. Could it be that you’ve partially misjudged him this whole time?

Could there really be a scrap of a heart somewhere underneath all that ego and contempt?

You suck your teeth, accepting the inevitable as the chill begins to work itself deeper into your bones.

“You first.”

Hoseok chews on his lip, looking unsure of his plan now himself. But then he’s reaching for his collar, winding his fingers in a downward line to undo each button of his shirt until his torso is bared to you, goosebumps erupting over his skin.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he gasps. “Okay, now you.”

You grit your teeth against the chill and the fact that you’re really doing this, raising your hands to undo the top button, then the second and the third and then–

A woosh and a cough.

You whirl around to find Namjoon standing in the doorway, looking utterly disgusted.

“In the freezer? Really?” He clicks his tongue at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, we keep food in here.”

A horrified gasp leaves your mouth as both you and Hoseok hurriedly button your shirts back up. “It’s not what it looks like! We were–”

“I know what you were doing,” he scoffs. “Do us all a favor and save it for outside work hours, okay? Now get back out here. I need help checking our liquor stock.”

And then he spins on his heel and leaves.

You rush to catch the door before it closes, Hoseok only a step behind. The warmth of the restaurant envelops you like the toastiest blanket, and the two of you stand there for a moment rubbing the heat back into your skin. It’s such a relief that you don’t even feel entirely horrified over Namjoon thinking that you and Hoseok are sleeping together.

And speaking of Hoseok–

“Well,” he says with a clearing of his throat.

“Well.”

“That was fun.”

“Not in the slightest,” you reply. “Though I can’t believe I got you to say sorry.”

He winks. “That was just to get your shirt off.” You stand there, frozen, as he strides off down the hallway, spinning back towards you at the last second.

“Nice boobs by the way.”

a/n: as always, please consider liking, reblogging, replying, and/or dropping an ask if you enjoyed! :)

#bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fic #bts fanfic #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok imagines

[sleepyowlwrites]

writing prompts! specific Chinese drama tropes

Getting locked in a walk-in freezer

Falling into water when you can't swim

Being harrassed by some guy at work with pretty much no warning

Spraining your ankle just walking

Claiming to have no ulterior motives in a way that no one believes

Ignoring your crush's feelings for someone else because you're delusional

Harming your crush's significant other out of unwarranted jealousy

Having a really nice apartment for a single person with a low income

Catching a cold after being out in the rain for two minutes

Going to the hospital because you scraped your elbow

Blurting out inconvenient truths to your crush while intoxicated

Getting stabbed in the chest and walking it off

Getting stabbed by your significant other because they think you killed their family

Being terrified of your mother despite being a fully grown adult

Losing a special piece of jewelry and needing to risk physical harm to recover it

Fainting and waking up hours later like that's a normal thing that happens

Spitting blood after being struck in the chest

Having two really good-looking people pursuing you and not realizing

Curing poison with acupuncture

Carrying around an important artifact accidentally

Meeting a rich guy who is instantly obsessed with you

Having a stellar wardrobe regardless of your financial circumstances

Being told by a doctor that your loved one is in a coma but they should wake up soon and be fine

Meeting a hot person to be your mortal enemy that you may or may not fall in love with

Getting kidnapped for ultimately extremely superficial reasons

#writing prompts #prompts #writing prompt #prompt #prompt list #prompts list #trope prompts

[hurtthemgently]

Hurt your whumpee prompt list, number plus character, you all know the deal

Purely for whump fiction.

Sound torture

Sensory deprivation

Sleep deprivation

Whip them

Use a riding crop

Grab their hair

Gel electrodes

Taser

Car charger

Cattle prod

Drug them with a sedative

Drug them with a stimulant

Inject something painful

Make sure they see the syringe

Drowning

Waterboarding

Clamp a hand over their nose and mouth

Put them in an air controlled chamber and take out the air

Stress position

Lock them in a freezer

Pour ice water on them

Pour boiling water on them

Burn them

Brand them

Give them a new tattoo

Give them a new piercing

Break their wrist

Leave them hanging by the wrists

Slowly trail a knife across them

Cut them deep

Kick them while they’re down

Knee them in the stomach

Knock their head into something

Grab them by the lapels of their shirt

Shove their back against the wall

#whump prompt list #send a number plus a character #pls don’t let this break containment tho #needle mention #cold whump #tw torture #electrocution tw #non con body modification #manhandling tw #I’ve been wanting to make one of these for a while #mostly just a list of stuff I’m comfortable writing tho

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I have been rotating factory/industrial whump in my mind, but I can't find any prompt. can you conjure some?

whumpee with their hand stuck in a machine or a propeller — which led to caretaker having to fetch a makeshift tourniquet to stop the bleed, it could then lead to an on-field amputation.

whumpee getting trapped in a warehouse during the night, bonus if it’s dark inside and they’re afraid of the dark.

or, whumpee getting trapped in a warehouse during the night, with whumper or caretaker? your choice.

a malfunction occurred which caused the cold room (a walk-in-freezer)’s electric door to automatically shut and lock on its own, with whumpee trapped inside. caretaker and the team have to try to find a way to open the door in time before hypothermia causes whumpee’s body any permanent damage.

whumper stuffed whumpee inside a package box and sealed it as "a prank", they didn't know (or didn't care) whumpee was a claustrophobe.

chemical spilled. whumpee is exposed to it; the symptoms can be nausea, headache, blurred vision, fatigue, fever, shortness of breath, rash, burns — if you want to take it up a notch, you can add seizures, respiratory failure and/or internal hemorrhage as part of the symptoms.

#admin answers #factory whump #factory #whump #writing #writer #writers #whumpblr #writeblr #whump prompts #whump prompt #writing prompts #writing prompt #writing inspo #writing inspiration #writing challenge #prompts #prompt #angst #writing tropes #whump tropes #whump trope #writing ideas #writing trope #tropes #trope

[luxeavenger]

At Least It's Roomy...?

Day 10 Kinktober prompt: Temperature Play

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: Temperature play, vaginal fingering, piv sex, nomad Steve (yah, you betcha he's a warning)

Words: 1706

My fics have not been showing up in the tags, so I'm relying solely on reblogs to get them out there. So I'd be so very grateful if you could reblog. To everyone who has been reblogging—ya'll are rockstars!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Buy me a coffee: Ko-fi

Being on the run from the government with Steve Rogers has been something else entirely.

Too much adrenaline. Not enough sleep. Always watching. Always ready to move out on a moment's notice. Go bags always within arms reach. Hiding in some of the most questionable places one could imagine.

This ice cream freezer is in a little shop somewhere just south of the Canadian border. Steve had done a favor for the owner years ago, and she was happy to stash you both somewhere out of the way while you waited for transport.

“Steve, this is a freezer.” You scowl at him.

“Yes it is.” He smirks back at you.

“It wasn’t a question, smart ass.” You ram him playfully with your shoulder when he snorts a laugh.

He pulls on the latch to open the door, and looks inside. “At least it’s roomy…?” he says with a shrug.

You grumble, but your heart really isn’t in it. This isn’t even close to the worst place you’ve had to hide.

“Sam’s on his way, so it’ll just be a couple of hours, sweetheart,” Steve promises earnestly, and kisses your temple.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m just grumpy. It’s still loads better than the swamp incident.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about that anymore-”

“Yeah, I know,” you fuss. “If we’re getting in, let’s get in.”

Fifteen minutes after locking yourselves into the freezer, your teeth are chattering, and Steve wraps his arms around you. The heat from his body immediately seeps into your bones and you groan and push even closer to him.

He chuckles, “Feel better?”

You hum your affirmation. “Thank goodness for your jacked-up metabolism.”

“Just my metabolism?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You want me to say your dick, don’t you?”

“Only if that’s the way you feel in your heart.”

“Okay, your dick’s nice too.”

“That’s good to know,” he hums.

You wrap your arms around him, and moan at how good his heat and solid body feel against you.

“My dick is gonna get a whole lot nicer if you keep moaning like that.”

You moan, squeeze even closer, and moan again when you feel his cock start to stiffen against you.

A low rumble bubbles out of his throat. “I’m warning you, sweetheart.”

“Mmmm, daddy. You feel so good,” you groan, cupping his ass in both hands.

“Son of a-” he growls. “Gimmie,” he grabs your ass and hoists you into his arms.

He grinds your core against his cock, and you gasp. “It did get nicer, Stevie.”

He shakes you gently. “No,” he grunts.

“It did get nicer, daddy.”

“Fuck.”

He sets you back down, and pulls a coat out of his go bag, and lays it over a stack of boxes.

While he’s fussing over the coat, you ask, “Why do you even have a coat? It’s not like you actually need it.”

“It’s so you have something to sit on while I fuck you in an ice-cream freezer.” He lifts an eyebrow at you like it was obvious. “Here,” he sits you down on top of his jacket, and bends over you so he can kiss you deeply.

He lifts your shirt up over your tits, and you gasp as your nipples instantly stiffen in the cold. You push your chest up, searching for Steve’s heat to warm you up.

“No ma’am,” he tsks, holding you back with a finger in the middle of your chest.

You shudder as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. You make a pleading sound, but still Steve holds you back.

Your nipples are painfully hard, and you just need someone to touch them, so you reach up to cup your tits, but Steve snatches your hands out of the air, and pins them over your head.

“I said, no.” The authority in his voice is unmistakable.

“Please, daddy,” you whine. “I need you.”

“I bet you do,” he teases, his body arched gracefully over yours. He skims a knuckle over one of your nipples, and you strain towards the tiny point of warmth with a whimper. When he draws circles over the stiff peak you grind yourself against the firm ridge of his cock.

“More, god, please more,” you beg.

“‘God’ is so formal,” he grins, “I prefer daddy.” He dips down and seals his mouth over your nipple, and you nearly sob at how good it feels. The heat of his mouth, the way he swirls his tongue over your skin, the scratchiness of his beard.

Because of the cold, you feel everything.

Steve switches to your other nipple, the saliva he left behind on the first nipple immediately begins to evaporate and cool. You make an incoherent noise, and roll your hips against him. He releases your hands and you automatically bury your fingers in his shaggy hair.

He lets your nipple pop out of his mouth, but stays close enough that the heat of his breath fans out over your chest when he speaks, and his lips graze the pebbled flesh.

“Tell daddy what you need, gorgeous.”

“I need-” You stop abruptly as a strangled moan leaves you, after Steve’s hot mouth switches back to the cold nipple.

He grins against your skin. “Use your words. I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Please,” you sob, grinding against him.

“Please what?”

You moan a curse when he skims his fingertips over your stomach. “Fuck, I need you inside me, daddy! Please!”

He groans, and flips your shirt back down over your chest, and pulls his own shirt off, and covers you with that as well.

You gasp, “Oh my god, look at you.”

“What’s wrong?” He looks at you curiously.

As his shirtless, and overheated super-soldier body meets the icy air of the freezer, you can see tendrils of steam curling off of his shoulders.

“I just…” you trail off. “Sometimes I forget how remarkable you are,” you can’t help the awe that bleeds into your voice, and Steve’s cheeks flush. You sit up and pull him down for a sweet kiss, which he returns with a hum of gratitude.

He breaks the kiss with a grin, seizing one of your hands in his, and brings it down to cup the front of his jeans.

“Tell daddy how bad you want his cock,” he whispers against your cheek.

“Feel so empty,” you gasp as your cunt clenches around nothing. “Need you to fill me up, daddy.”

Lightning quick, Steve has your pants stripped off, and he’s kneeling between your legs, pushing them up so you’re completely exposed before him.

He blows a soft puff of air over your pussy lips, followed by a huff of warm air. He breathes like this for a few minutes, alternating blowing a chilly gust of air over your sensitive flesh, and following it up with a warm exhale to chase away the icy air.

You get lost in the cycle of hot-cold-hot-cold, so when two of his fingers push into your cunt, it surprises you, and you arch up off the box beneath you with a cry.

He rubs his shaggy beard all over your inner thighs, “You wanted me inside of you, did you not?”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” you reply dazedly, already on edge from his teasing.

His breath heats your thigh as he hums, “Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” you say, wrapping your legs around his shoulders to keep him close.

“Sweetheart, if you hold onto me like this, I won’t be able to fuck you.” He tugs gently at your legs.

“You can move ‘em,” you grunt.

“I guess I can,” he hums, rising and picking you up bodily, breaking the circle of your legs open with his broad chest. He supports you with one arm while he undoes the front of his jeans to get his cock out. The cold creeps over your naked skin, a stark contrast to all the points of unnatural heat coming from Steve’s body.

Just as the chilled air on your exposed pussy gets to be too much, Steve is lowering you down onto his cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, and mindlessly keen his name.

Once he bottoms out, he quietly asks, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“God, you feel so fucking good.,” you groan.

He smirks at you, “I thought I told you not to call me god.”

You don’t get to respond, because he wraps his thick arms around you and starts fucking you hard. He’s holding you up effortlessly, so you grasp the back of Steve’s neck, so you can lean back, and let the cold air curl around you again, chasing it away by pressing against Steve when it becomes too much.

The heat that’s been building in your core ever since Steve laid you down on those boxes blazes through you when you come. Clinging to Steve, and groaning with every slap of his hips against your ass. You whimper when he squeezes you tight, and buries his cock in you, filling you with his heat until it’s dripping out of you in warm rivulets.

“Oh fuck,” he pants into your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Salty language, sir,” you slur against his hair. You squeal when he slaps your ass.

“Fuuuck,” he rumbles one more time, just for good measure.

After a minute, he jolts, “Oh shit. It’s cold, isn’t it? I gotta get you covered up.” He moves to sit you down on his coat, so he can help you back into your pants, but you squeeze your legs around his hips, and arms around his neck.

“No! Don’t you dare put me down,” you growl.

He pulls gently on your thigh. “I can move ‘em, you know,” he parrots your earlier suggestion.

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

“You’re right,” he says, heaving a contented sigh and burying his face in your neck.

A fist pounds heavily on the outside of the freezer door.

“Are you guys fucking in there? You better not be fucking in there,” Sam yells, followed by a loud, and overly-dramatic noise of disgust.

“Jesus, Sam,” you yell. “Don’t be gross. It’s an ice cream freezer. We’re eating ice cream.”

Thanks for reading! Please remember artists rely on readers like you to hit that "reblog" button. For you - it's free. For us - it's worth everything.

The dripping slime from my signature is by Rivermakes on DeviantArt, and was free to use with credit.

taglist

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #marvel cinematic universe #nomad!steve rogers x reader #nomad!steve rogers x you #nomad!steve rogers x female!reader #nomad!steve rogers #nomad!steve rogers smut #nomad!steve x reader #nomad!steve x you #nomad!steve x female!reader #nomad!steve #nomad!steve smut #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america x female!reader #captain america #captain america smut #kinktober 2022 #kinktober prompt #temperature play

[deity-prompts]

Can I get an au prompt idea for a chef story?

Hell yeah you can. I’m not sure if you wanted these to be otp prompts or not so I made these as standard as possible.

Chef Prompts

Prompts

A ate the best meal of their life and has set out on the impossible journey of replicating that exact dish from scratch.

A is sick and has lost their sense of taste, making their cooking attempts miserable.

A has a game where they eat at a restaurant and try to recreate it at home.

A keeps accidentally getting locked in the walk-in freezer.

A works as a dishwasher at a restaurant and is always the last to leave. They use that time to test out their original recipes.

Oneliners

“This tastes amazing! How long have you been cooking?” “Honestly, that was my first time”

“Just like my mother used to make”

“That’s not real cooking.” “You’re such a snob.”

“Did you burn yourself cooking again?”

“It’s just a local competition. What’s the harm in entering?”

“I haven’t tried this recipe in years.”

“This food is amazing, you’re an incredible cook but . . . um . . . I’m kind of allergic to it.”

“Why can’t I get this recipe right?”

“Maybe I’ll just quit and work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life.”

“I’ve kept this kitchen running for years. Treat me with respect.”

Also see:

Enemies to lovers baking prompts

Prompts masterlist

#writing prompts #chef prompts #otp prompts #writing oneliners #dialogue prompts #fluff prompts #angst prompts #brotp prompts #writing inspiration #fanfiction prompts #writeblr #rp prompts

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Just Breathe- Series

Good evening everyone! here is the second chapter in the Just Breathe Series. This series was inspired/prompted by the ask that was submitted by @deans-spinster-witch to read the first chapter click here for the original post. @deans-spinster-witch was gracious enough to lend her skills in ruffing out a few of the mishaps in chapter one, and I will post that updated version at some point and link it, and did the same for this second chapter. 

Here is the original ask for a refresher.

Ask from @deans-spinster-witch:

Tell me about Dean falling in love with a girl who has long covid - maybe they met when he saved her from a monster and they became friends, she occasionally helps him with research or patches him up if he gets hurt.  He doesn’t hear from her for a while, and when he goes to check on her, he finds out she’s in the hospital with Covid - a monster he can’t save her from.  He realizes he loves her, but may lose her.  After she gets out he keeps coming to check on her because he knows she tires easily/has trouble breathing at times.

This second chapter is going to start with a bit of time jump, but don’t worry we got flashback a plenty to fill in the gaps. Multi POV between the main character, Y/N, and Dean Winchester, mentions of Sam Winchester. This is angst, sweet/fluffy, swearing, implied sexy times. Oh and word count is at 7,250-ish, sorry but not sorry. 

Sadly the Winchesters are not mine, but the story is so please don’t steal and post as your own. But likes, reblog, and comments are always welcome. As always any mistakes like grammar, spelling, function is also all mine, so be kind when pointing it out, I do my best. 

I would like to know if you like this chapter would you want to see a third chapter? or maybe a prequel to answer any questions you might have regarding Y/N and Dean? Let me know. 

Thank you again for reading, and you would like to send me a prompted or story idea, send it my way. 

Happy Reading

Time Jump to 4 months ahead. 

Y/N POV

Shit, Shit, Shit! Where the hell are my keys! You yell out in frustration as you move frantically around your house, looking for the one thing that you need to get to your appointment on time. Tossing the pillows from the couch, goddamn it! You were never like this, ever since COVID, your short term memory has been foggy to put it nicely. Resorting to keeping both a paper list and digital one on your phone, is your new normal. Walking into a room to do something, and instantly forgetting what you came for. Case in point, not remembering where you put your goddamn keys! 

You hate running late, you pride yourself on always being early to things, and this appointment was an important one. Walking into the kitchen, you start to look in the not so obvious places. Opening up the fridge, nope not in there. Pull open the freezer next, yep there they are, right next to the pint of mint chip ice cream that you just had to have yesterday at like 11 pm. Only to then be disappointed that you now can’t stand the taste of your once favorite ice cream, fuck you COVID! 

Ugh, seriously, you are going to be the death of me, you think. Grabbing your keys, you push the freezer door closed, and head off to the hospital for your fourth month CT scan. Locking the door behind you, the crisp air of fall hits you. God how you don’t want winter to come any sooner then it has too. Winters in Michigan can be brutal, especially on the coast line. Pulling your light jacket close to you, you quicken your pace and get into your jeep to start up the car quickly, and pull out of the driveway. Not noticing the very familiar black impala parked about three houses down. 

****

You make it with time to spare, as you wait in the waiting room after checking in, you try your best to calm yourself. Fiddling with your phone, you find that scrolling through Instagram is getting you nowhere and your emails have been radio silent for months now. Exhausted, you put your phone away, you look around the room. For mid morning it's not too busy, the daytime talkshow mixes in with the white noise of the hospital. It's so beige, beige carpet, walls, even the uncomfortable furniture is beige. It makes sense, given it's a hospital; money should be spent on actual patient care, not on the latest interior furnishings., But still, at least get some interesting artwork. Looking to the piece across from you: an abstract painting of paint strokes in grays, blues, and you guessed  it, beige.

“Ms. Moore?” The nurse's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to see her standing at the entryway in blue scrubs, dark brown hair pulled back, with a kind smile. 

“Yep” you reply to her, but you're sure she would have guessed that was you, as your head snapped at attention when your name was called. “Hi”, giving her a smile as you walk towards her.

“Hi,” she replies, “can you tell me your last name and date of birth?” She starts walking down the hallway, looking at your chart, the path was second nature for her. You rattle off your last name and birthday for her, then she stops just off from an open doorway, “right in here.” Letting you walk in first.

She takes a seat at a desk, swiping her badge to start keying in some information. “So, here for your four month CT scan.” she states, but it also feels like a question.

“Umm, yeah, it's my second one.” You reply, still getting used to coming to the doctor more than twice a year. You only ever went if you were feeling really sick. 

“Looks like the first one was clean, but we like to do a few in close succession when someone has had a severe case of covid.” she explains, her eyes are kind, and reassuring, “I am sure this one will be just as good, and then hopefully the doctor will schedule them farther apart.”

She must see the worry on your face. Not sure how to respond, you just nod your head. She takes your vitals, asks if anything else has changed since your last visit, and if there were any other concerns you wanted to discuss today. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Typing a few more things in the computer, and then swapping her badge again to lock the computer. “I am surprised your brother is not here with you today.” 

“What?” You're taken aback by this, brother, does she mean Dean? How would she know about him? Was it in your chart? You don’t remember adding him as your emergency contact.

She can tell you are put off by this. “Sorry, I should have re-introduced myself. I was your nurse when you were in here with covid.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I should have…”

“No, it's fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.”

Thinking back to that time, she does seem familiar now, “well it's nice to see you again…” struggling to remember her name quickly, but not inconspicuously looking at her badge, “Bridget.” This gets a laugh out of her, and you do the same. “I was happy to see your name on the schedule today, and I thought you were the one with the very cute, and very attentive brother. That's why I am surprised he is not here.”

Ah yes, Dean, not being here. That is a long, long story that you're sure she does not want, nor has the time to hear right now. You give her a forceful smile, “Yeah, Dean, he has something today, so just me.”

Her smart watch goes off, and she looks at the time, “well we should get you down to CT. After your scan, we will come back here and the doctor will be with you to go over the results.” She gets up, and you follow. 

****

The wait feels like forever, and in the small exam room with nothing to look at but an exam table -and beige walls - you were lost in your head. Worrying about what if they found something, what if you developed lesions, or anything that could compromise your health. God, how you wish Dean was here, or even Sam. Someone to hold your hand and distract you from the impending doom and dark thoughts that were creeping in. Dean would distract you with lame jokes, or stories about how Sammy was terrified of doctors. He would get you to smile anyway he could, probably go so far and raid the supplies of tongue depressors and cotton balls, saying something like “they don’t need all of them, do they?”

“Ms. Moore, how are we today?” The doctor's voice breaks up your fleeting thoughts of Dean, as if he was right there, but as soon as the man in the white coat opens the door and steps through, Dean disappears. 

“Umm, good, at least I hope so.” You reply, wanting to keep the pleasantries short, let get to the point so you can get out of here. 

He takes a look over the file, and then pulls up the scans on the computer. He seems to be taking forever, did he not look at them beforehand! Come on man just tell me already! “Everything looks good, I am not seeing any growth of lesions or scar tissue from the tube.”

Relife floods your body, letting out a sight, “oh that great news, so I am done with coming in?” you hope so, wanting to never see this place again, at least for a while. 

He turns to face you, his dark brown eyes are kind, but you can tell right away he is not going to give you the answer you want. “Not yet, but we can push them to every six months.”

Okay, twice a year, I guess that is a compromise you can take, “okay, so I will see you in the spring.” Starting to get up to leave, but he stops you.

“In two months, we can start doing six month visits. I want to see you again one more time in two months. If that scan is clean then we push them to six month visits.” He explains. 

You sit back down in defeat, you're going to be back here in two months, really! You know you can’t take your frustration out on him, he is just looking out for your health and doesn’t want to miss anything. “Okay.” Slightly defeated, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the couch, and sleep for the next two months away. 

Giving your hands a reassuring pat, “two months will fly by I promise. Is there anything else you want to discuss today? Still having some memory issues?”

You know that you should be honest with him, that you think you have gotten worse since Dean left, but honestly are you sure? He did so much for you in that short time, maybe, you were like this before, and he just didn’t point it out. Plus you just wanted to go home, what really could he do anyways? “Nothing new on that. I think I just need to get back to my normal routine and I will be fine.” 

Getting up from his chair, “Sounds good. I will send Bridget back in, she will get you set up for your next appointment. We will see you in two months. Have a good day.” shutting the door behind him. You're back alone in that quiet room.

Alone, you're alone, once again. You can feel the panic start to creep in. Alone, and even though the scan was good, he still wants you to come back. Alone, no one to hold your hand, no one to make stupid jokes. You did this to yourself, you know that, he would have stayed, you pushed him…

“Alright, Doctor says two months humm.” Bridget's voice breaks through. It's light and airy. Trying to make the situation as pleasant as possible. As soon as she sits down, she can tell you're not alright, “Hey, what's wrong?” She asks, setting down the chart, and focusing on you.

Feeling a tear run down your cheek, fuck why are you crying.  “Umm…it's nothing….yeah two months…” You take a ragged breath, pushing all your emotions down, down, down, to the deepest part of your soul where they should always live. You can cry when you get home. Suck it up for two more minutes!

“Hey, talk to me, what’s going on.” She is not letting you wash this away, she grabs the tissue box, and holds it out for you to pull a couple out of the box. “Your scan was clean, the doctor is just being cautious that's all.” 

“I know it's just…I really wish he was here….”

“Dean,” she replies, filling in the blanks. You nod at this, and wipe your eyes and face. “I am sure if you talk to him, he will come to the next appointment.”

Oh if she only knew, but you couldn’t lay this all out on a complete stranger. Again she just wants to do her job, and move on to the next patient, you're taking up too much of her time. “I am sure you're right.” Taking a few ragged breaths. 

She gives you a reassuring smile, and turns to the computer to book your appointment, reminding you that you can always change it to accommodate if Dean can’t make it this time. “I could tell he really cares for you. Even in the short time I saw him, he wouldn’t leave your side for anything. Practically had to kick him out every night when visiting hours were over.” Trying to make the situation light, and hopefully get a smile back on your face. 

Giving her a short laugh, “yeah that sounds like Dean.” You can see it, him waiting until the last possible second. A security guard to escort him out.

Both of you get up, and she walks you to the door, and down the hall towards the exit. Seeing you coming back around, she decides to let you in on a little secret. Stopping you before opening up the door to the waiting room she leans in slightly. “Just between you and me, I knew he wasn’t your brother.”

“What….I mean…no he is….” You stammer out, hoping that she wasn’t going to bust you for…something, you're not sure? But still not wanting to get into trouble.

“Don’t worry dear, it's fine.” She quickly replies, trying to calm your fears. 

You let out a sigh of relief, “How did you know?”

“Two things. One he just pulled on my heartstrings so much that I figured what would be the harm in him sticking around, even if he wasn’t related. Plus, if I was ever lucky enough to have a guy look at me the way he did to you, I would want him to be by my side every second.”

Her smile is contagious, and although you're still doubting that what you feel for Dean would ever be reciprocated, now is not the time to hash it out with her. “What was the second?”

“I may have heard him one night on the phone with someone, saying he couldn’t lose you, that he needed to tell you that he was in love with you.'' She says matter of factly, pushing the door open and waiting for you to walk through. 

*******

Dean POV

He watches as she pulls into the driveway and shuts off the car. He had followed her from a safe distance from the hospital to the store, and then back to her house. She didn’t notice once, even though he had taught her in the past how to spot a tail. Did she get bad news? Maybe it's the COVID that is affecting her hunter instincts? Fuck, if thats the case, what else could she be missing? Is it stupid and desperate of him to be following her, and watching from a distance? Maybe, but also not, if she is not noticing simple things like him following her. What if  Lucifer, or one of his henchmen, came after her? Anxiety just thinking of irrational attacks on you causes his chest to tighten as he pulls back into the parking spot a few houses down.

He should be a man and go up to you, talk to you, and see you face to face. He missed you, your smile, your laugh - fuck, everything about you. He knows he screwed up. As soon as he did what he did, he wished he could have taken it back, but the damage was done. He kept saying it was for the best, that you would forgive him, and move on. But you can’t forgive him unless he stops being a little stalker and owns up to what he did.

Flashback to the night of the big blowup. Dean POV

Standing there, staring down the closed door, you wish right now you had superpowers to see through the door and see if she’s alright. Hell, you don’t need to be a superhero to know she’s not. You're just wondering what brought this on. “Y/N, come on, talk to me” you plead, softly knocking on the door. “I am sorry…I don’t mean to…” your rambling stops when you hear soft sobs from the otherside of the door. 

“Just go away Dean!” She yells between sobs. “I can’t breathe with you here… I can’t…”

You grab the door knob, fear and pressure weighing down on you to get to her, to hold her.  Most importantly, to make her understand that your overbearing protectiveness is coming from a place of needing to be in control, that you care for her, and need to protect her “Y/N, please just open the door, let's talk? I promise I will ease up, I can do better.”

You can hear her give a small laugh at that, you're about to question her on this when your phone goes off. Screw it, let it go to voicemail, she is more important than anything else. “I am not giving up on you, on us. You have to come out eventually.” 

Your phone stops ringing for a second and then starts back up again. What the Hell? “You should answer that, Dean.” She states without hesitation, but  with an undertone of sadness. 

Letting out a sigh, you turn around. “Fine if you want to talk via phone, fine.” Walking away from her door into the living room, you pick up your phone from the coffee table. To your surprise it's not her name across the screen, but Sam’s. “What?” you bark out in frustration, not really wanting to talk with him right now. 

“Dean, back off.” Sam says matter of factly. No pleasantries, just straight to the point. 

“She called you? Why?” Confused as to why she is including Sam on this.

“She just needs some space, Dean, I think it's time you come back. Jody called and…” Sam calmly says, trying his best to diffuse the situation from the other side of the country. 

“No, Sam, I am not leaving her! I can’t lose her again, I won’t… I love her, man…”

Your back is to the hallway, so you don’t notice Y/N standing there, listening, hearing  what you should be confessing to her and not your brother. You don’t see her wondering why can’t you just say what you feel? Why can’t you just let down your guard with her and tell her?

*****

The slamming of a trunk pulls Dean back to the present, and he looks up to see you carrying an arm load of groceries. Of course you would do it in one trip. He shakes his head, remembering that you never like to take more than one trip from the car to the house. Your logic always being, as you told him, I am a single girl, I can do it in one go. He watched as you held the screen door open with your butt, as you switched all the bags to one arm so you could open the door with the other. Looking away once you're inside, Dean notices it’s about 20 minutes since you pulled in the driveway. Had you been sitting there this whole time? You have only gone to the hospital and store, but still your energy must not be back to what it used to be. 

Maybe he should check, make sure you're doing okay. Look in the window really quick. Getting out of the car and walking the short distance, he looks over to your car to see that you still had some toilet paper and paper towels in the back seat. Knowing that you would be back, he decides to help you out. Opening up the door as quietly as possible he grabs the items, and takes them up to the door. Putting them in between the screen door and main door, he turns around to leave.

His eyes look in the kitchen window, to see you putting away your items. Your back is to him, so you don’t notice. You seem lost in your own world, on auto pilot putting things away. Dean takes a moment to appreciate that he can see you up close. His eyes scan the room, noticing the post-it notes all over. He never remembers you having so many of them before. He can’t read what they say, but they are everywhere; on the cabinets, counter tops, table, Was your memory getting worse? 

Panic, and anger - at himself more than anything -  sets in.

*******

Y/N POV

“I love her Sam, I am in love with her…I can’t…no I won’t lose her, I need to tell her how I feel…”

“You don’t love me, Winchester” your voice stops Dean from rambling on the lies that you know, in the end, he doesn’t mean.

Dean turns to see you standing there, your eyes red from crying. But you're not crying now; no, now you  look  pissed, like you want to kick some ass - and Dean’s is the closest one. “Got to go Sam.” Dean quickly says, ending the call. “What do you mean I don’t love you. Of course I do, I….”

You hold up a hand, and stop Dean from saying anything more. “No, you don’t. People like me, we don’t have sexy knights to save us. To fall in love with us, to whisk us away, and want to play house with.” Determine to get this all out, to get your point across and make him accept reality. 

“We are your best friend, the girl you call on Friday nights when your date falls through, or you strike out with the bartender. We are your ‘wing woman’, we pick you up, dust you off, and send you back out into the world. We build your confidence up, while we sit on the sidelines alone.”

“Y/N that's not true…” Dean starts to protest.

“Let me finish, I have to get this out.” taking a breath, you can see he’s hurt, that he wants to argue, to explain his side. “Yes, you care for me, but you don’t love me, and you're not In love with me. You're in love with this idea of a life outside of hunting, you love the idea of playing house.” Closing the gap between you, even though you know better than to get  this close to him. You're playing with fire, but you're desperate to feel him. 

“You're right, I am in love with the idea of an apple pie life. But I want that life with you, no one else.” Dean interjects before you can shut him down, shut down what is going on between you two before it can even start. 

Taking a chance, he grabs your hand and brings it up to his chest and places it over his heart. “Can’t you feel my heart? It’s racing for you. It always has, it always will.”

 Feeling the softness of the white t-shirt between your fingers, you take a breath and inhale the smell of him. “Sooner or later we both know this won’t be enough, that I won’t be enough.” You talk to his chest, not wanting or able to look him in the eye, your voice low and shaky. “You're going to leave me, sideline me, and only blow through town when you need something.”

“That's not true! You have always wanted your own life. I always wanted to protect you as much as I could. The things that Sam and I deal with, the people and monsters we hunt, if anything ever happens…you are a vulnerability that they will exploit. I know it.” 

“Maybe. Even more reason why you have to go…and never come back…” Glancing up to see the gut punch you just delivered written on his face. You try to take a step back.

Dean won’t let you go, bringing a hand around your waist, holding you. “What?! No! I won’t cut you out of my life. I now know I was stupid for ever doing that. For letting you live alone, or at the very least, not in the same state as the bunker.” He practically commands, with no hesitation. How could you think he would ever agree to this?   

“Y/N, I need you in my life. You can’t deny that there is something between us.” His words are sweet, his voice is low as he leans into you. His breath fans over your face, as his hands caress your cheek. “Please, I need you.” 

His lips are so close to yours, that if you lean ever so slightly, you would finally know how soft his lips are. Would they fulfill your fantasies? God, maybe you should live in this fantasy for as long as you can, screw being logical. Let it be a future Y/N problem, present Y/N wants to know what it's like to be wanted by Dean Winchester. “I…Dean…”

*******

 Y/N and Dean POV 

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Your voice pulls him from the memory of that night, and he looks to see you standing at the door, one hand holding open the screen door. 

Oh fuck, well, this wasn’t the plan at all. Giving her a smile, “Hey Y/N, I was in the neighborhood…thought I would…”

“So you're stalking me now?”

“Hehe, no, I said I was in the neighborhood, wanted to see how you are…you look good.” He says, letting his eyes look at you. You did look good, but tired, your eyes didn’t shine like they normally did before; the spark, the hint of twinkle is gone.

“Liar, I look like shit, but thanks.” You quip, knowing that you don’t look good at all. Wearing a ratty hoodie and jeans, you opted for comfort over trying to impress anyone. “Well, thanks for stopping by.” You say, giving him a fake smile and turning to walk back in the house. 

“Umm…Y/N, I could, I mean Sam could use your help with something, he knew I was going to be passing through and wanted me to stop by and ask for some help.” Quickly thinking on his feet, he creates an excuse. He didn’t want to leave yet, this is the most he has talked to you since that night. He would be damned if he was going to let you leave so soon. 

You turn back to look at Dean, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or not. Sam had your number, and you were still speaking to the younger Winchester - he didn’t break your heart and live up to everything you knew would happen. “Why didn’t he call me?” You question, wanting to make Dean work for it. He wasn’t getting in that easy!

He takes a few steps towards you, “well, like I said, he knew I was in the area.” One step lower from you, his green eyes lock with yours, silently pleading with you to let him in. “He wanted me to pick up a lore book on Pixies, and said you had a copy that we don't have in the library.”

“Fine, come in. I will go grab it.” You reply, turning away from him, letting him catch the door before it slams in his face. 

Dean shucks off his jacket and boots, and looks around while you go back to find the book. He can now see the post-its in detail, reminding you where your keys, jacket, bag should be put. Making his way to the kitchen, cabinets are labeled with what should be in them: dry food, dishes, silverware. Daily schedule on the fridge. “Having fun snooping?” Your sarcastic tone has him turning on his heels to see you standing in the doorway with a book in hand. 

“Umm…sorry…” he says sheepishly, hating  that he got caught. He can see you're not amused, and he is really going to have to lay on the charm to win you back. 

“Yeah, well at least I am keeping the post-it company in business. Here is the book.” You say handing it to him.

Dean takes it, and looks at it, giving it a nod, “Thanks, yep this is it.” 

“Okay, well, you better get going, since Sam is in ‘desperate’ need of it and all.” Your voice is flat, not in the mood to deal with him. “You know where the door is.” You add, just turning that knife even deeper. 

“Look, Y/N can we talk?” Dean can tell you're not your usual self, and he really wants to get you back.

“Oh now you want to talk? You sure as hell didn’t want to talk for four months. Didn’t want to talk when you woke up the next morning regretting that kiss, regretting what we said to each other, the promises you made.” You snap at him, the frustration building in you. Why does it always have to be on his time? God you were just getting over him, right?

“I know. I was a jerk, it was a dick move, and I am sorry.”

“You're sorry, really?That's all you have to say?” Turning away from him, just looking at him and his sad puppy dog face, you want to smack him. Fuck, you want to hit yourself for being an idiot that night. 

******

“Dean…please…I…” You have to keep strong, tell him to go, you know this won’t end well.

“Please Y/N, You're the only good thing I have in this world, I can’t lose you.” Not waiting for a reply, his lips find yours. 

They're soft, perfect, molded to fit yours, and gentle, Dean doesn’t force his way. Pulling away, when your lungs start to burn,you lock eyes with him. Lust blown, his lips slightly pink. No words are exchanged, you silently say everything you need to him at that moment, and he seems to understand. Bringing his hands to cup your face, he goes back in to kiss you more, letting his tongue swipe across your lips. You allow his tongue to dance with yours. 

Fumbling your way to the couch, Dean falls back first, and you do your best not to land on top of him completely, giggling at the state you're both in. Dean looks up at you, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, and looking up at you lovingly, “God, I love that laugh of yours.” He says, pulling you down on him. Letting you feel what you're doing to him. 

“Dean, I have to be crushing you.” You protest, trying your best but failing at getting out of the vice grip Dean has on your hips. 

“Nope, You're staying right here.” He says, as he starts to pepper kisses down your neck. 

******

“Dean, I begged you to leave! I knew you never wanted me! And yet like an idiot, I fell for your charm and under your spell.” You grit out, turning on your heels and walking away from him. Fuck, you can’t keep doing this! 

“I did ... .I do ...Y/N look at me” Dean pleads, setting the book down he follows you to the living room, grabbing your hand. “Please, let me explain.”

Turning around, you pull your hand back. His touch, like fire, like touching a hot pan. “You know, I thought for a split second you were telling me the truth. That you wanted me like I have always wanted you.” Pain radiates through you, your voice seems to be stuck behind a lump forming in your throat. God, you want to smack him, but at the same time, kiss him.

Dean’s speechless, trying to work out how best to tell you what he was thinking in that split second when he woke up in your arms that day. For one second he felt total bliss, that everything was falling into place; then reality of his life came back into focus.

“I know, it wasn’t my finest hour.”

You laugh at this, you think!? “What is there to explain? We kissed, had a pretty good makeout, groped each other over and under our clothes, but then we both agreed to take it slow. Right?” You ask for confirmation, even though you remember it all too well.

“Yes, but, Y/N, if you just let me…” Dean stumbles to explain.

“But then, I wake up the next morning alone on the couch with a note that says, ‘Hey, Y/N, Sorry, Sammy needs me, will check in soon.’”

The space between you two is nonexistent. You're trying to find anything in those green eyes of his that will refute anything you just said. Anything to explain that you're overreacting, but there is nothing. He has no rebuttal, because it's all true. He walked out on you, like his father did to him and Sam all the time. The worst part was, Dean had Sam to lean on; you were left with no one.

“Like I said, not my finest hour…” he mumbles out.

“Not your goddamn finest hour?ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!” you yell, slamming your fists into his chest and pushing him away.  It does nothing to move him, and takes all your energy out of you. You stumble a bit, then lean back and sit on the arm of the couch.

“Hey, Y/N, please, calm down.'' His voice is heavy with concern, and he tries to help you up so you can sit on the couch.

“Don’t…touch…me…” You cough out. Needing water, you look to find your water bottle is nowhere. “Fuck….I…” You keep coughing, and try to get up.

“Water?” Dean questions. You nod, and try to get back up. “No, sit, I will go get it.” He tells you and quickly goes to the kitchen, and is back with a glass of water in seconds.

You down about half, the cool water helps calm you and your coughing fits. “Thanks” you mumble, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he ‘saved you again.’ You don’t look at him as you sit down the glass and avoid him at all costs.

Dean takes this as his opportunity to tell you his side. Sitting on the coffee table so he has direct eye contact with you, he reaches for your hand. “Please, Y/N, I am truly sorry. I know I was a jerk for leaving you like that, and for never calling or coming back.”

You stare him down, not  giving him an out on this one. “Go on. You will hear no objection from me on this one.” You reply.

Dean lets out a small sigh that clearly said fuck, alright here we go. “I was fucking scared, okay? I woke up, saw you in my arms, and for a split second I felt like I was home. My first thought was, this is perfection. No monster, no running the roads, crappy dinner food, and sketchy motels.” 

He leans towards you, putting a hand on your knee, and lightly runs his hands up and gives you a knowing smile. “The perfect, sexy, beautiful, girl in my arms, that I can’t wait to wake up and…”

You stop his hand from getting too close to what both you and him want to touch. “Not so fast  Winchester.” Knowing if he keeps going, you are definitely going to end up in a very compromising position. “No, I bet your first thought was, oh fuck what the hell did I do, and how the hell do I get out of it.”

“No, will you let me talk?. God, I see COVID can take your memory, but not your self-hatred or inability to butt in.” 

You hold your hands up in a fake defense, “Please go on.” You quip back, leaning back into the couch. 

Dean shakes his head, at least you’re sassing back, that is a good sign. “I got up, was going to start coffee for us, and while I was in the kitchen, Sam did call…

*******

“Hey Sammy,”

“How’s everything Dean, you kinda left me hanging? Did you and Y/N talk?” Sam asks, feeling like a schoolgirl catching up on the latest gossip between you too.

Dean takes a quick peek into the living room to make sure you're still asleep. “Yeah, everything is good. We talked and I think we are going to take things slow.” Dean explains, as he starts to make the coffee, he recounts most of the conversation between you two. Not all the details though, he wants to keep the really good stuff just for him. 

Sam lets out a sigh, “That's good, I am happy for you both. But now I hate to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Look, I know you still want to take some time, until Y/N is fully healed, but Jody could really use your help. There is something in South Dakota that is running amuck, and she’s worried that Claire is going to try and tackle it herself.”

Oh Claire, how she reminds Dean of himself sometimes, headstrong and just ready to fight anything that wasn’t human. She is a good hunter, but she is young. “Umm…yeah…I am sure I can make something work….”

“Thanks Dean, I am sure it will only be a day or two, and then you can get back to Y/N. I will call Jody and tell her to expect you.” Sam says.

Saying their goodbyes, Dean hangs up the phone, and has to hold back from throwing it across the room in anger. Fuck! Not two seconds, and he’s already been pulled back into the madness. How is he going to explain this to her? She won’t believe him, she will be heartbroken again, think it's her fault, and say that she told him. 

Seeing no other solution - or maybe it was that he didn’t want to wake you and see that pain in your eyes - he takes the cowardly way out. 

*****

“So you went to help Jody, a friend of mine. And didn’t think I would understand?” You question him, after he explains the conversation between him and Sam. 

“Yes…I guess I figure you would just see it as an excuse I came up with to leave you. Which it wasn’t, by the way.”

“But you said you would call, check in. But you didn’t! You couldn’t have been helping Jody this whole time? And even if you were, could you still have called!”

“I wanted to, but as I was driving away, I kept thinking about what you said, that you felt like an afterthought, that I blow through town whenever I need you. Take what I need and leave you with nothing.”

“So you figure, prove me right by ghosting me? Well, thanks Winchester, real fun.” You spit sarcastically, giving his knee a not-so-playful slap and getting up from the couch. “The door is still where you left it, you can see yourself out.” Fucking asshole. I need to get those locks changed tomorrow. You think, making your way to the kitchen to get some more water, to do anything but sit there and keep listening to him.

“Y/N, please. I am sorry, you're not an afterthought. The more that I kept driving, and the longer I pushed off calling you, it made it harder to call you. Because I knew as soon as I did I would lose you.”

“Funny, because the second you left, you lost me Dean. God, I woke up that morning and was devastated. Do you know how much I hate feeling like that?” Not needing him to answer, you lean up against the counter crossing your arms around yourself. Feeling the tears start to fall, you might as well go all the way. 

“You know, I never wanted to be that girl, who cried over a guy, who refused to do anything but sleep on that goddamn couch for two months because it was the last place I felt safe, and whole, and seen. I could still smell you on the pillows and blanket.” 

Taking a breath, you run your hands over your face. Taking another ragged breath, you work up the courage to tell him what you know he should know, but that you're scared to say out loud. “But the thing I hate the most, the one thing that makes me want to scream…is that I still love you.” You laugh at this. Its fucking absurd. Trying your best  to stifle your laughter, but it keeps bubbling out of you in frustration and disbelief 

Dean’s not sure how to react. On the one hand, you say that you still love him, but on the other hand your laughing like the fucking Joker. “Being in love with me is…funny?” he tentatively asks. Taking a few steps towards you, but not closing the distance. 

Wiping the tears from your face, you admit quietly, “yes, because I know, no matter what, I will always let you back in. I guess I am just a masochist that way. I would rather have you in my life, and be heartbroken, than to not have you and still be heartbroken.”

Shaking your head, in disbelief that you actually said those words out loud, and to Dean no less. You look up to see him watching you, waiting. “God I am pathetic…you really should not have saved me that night…” you mumble the last part to yourself. Pushing yourself off the counter, you turn away from him, to straighten up the non-existent mess on the counter. Shit, should not have said that. 

“GOD DAMN IT Y/N!” Dean’s yell booms, causing you to turn around to see Dean seething with rage.    Taking the last few steps towards you, he pulls you into a vice grip of a hold. “Don’t you ever say that again, do you hear me? Do you?” He commands, shaking with hurt and pain. 

He’s not angry at you, he's angry that you don’t understand how much you mean to him. That you hold your life as something subpar. Pulling away slightly, he lets go so he can hold your face in his hands. “Please don’t ever think or say that I shouldn’t have saved you that night.” His green eyes, glassy with tears about to be shed, bore into yours. “You are the only good thing in my life, and I know I have a lot of work to do to gain your trust back, and that my life is messy and chaotic, but please…please….don’t ever think I would regret saving you that night.”

You nod your head in response. “Okay” you whisper, “I promise.” You were taken aback by his outburst; Dean has never raised his voice to you, or looked this broken. Then again, you’ve never been this broken, or joked about that night before either. It was a topic that neither of you ever really discussed, more of an unspoken bond between you two.

Relief seems to wash over him. His hands fall from your face, his arms wrapping them around your waist, not wanting to leave the closeness of you. “I know I have a lot of work to do, and this may be pushing my luck. But can I kiss you?” Giving you a half smile, hoping that will seal the deal.

“Fuck, there’s that Winchester charm,” you joke, smirking as well. Screw it, it's been four months without those lips. You lean in and kiss him. Letting your lips dance with his for a bit, you pull back, “just as good and I remember.” you say cheekily.

“So, should we go make some new memories on that couch of yours?” Dean gives you a wink, walking backwards towards the living room, his arms still around yours.

You have no choice but to follow him, nodding. You know that you have a lot of work to do getting over your own insecurities and self doubt that Dean will get tired of you, or that he will regret being with you. You need to have faith in him, and in yourself, that you are worthy of a happy life with him; whatever that looks like.

#supernatural #fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean x y/n #writing prompt #dean x reader angst #dean #dean fanfiction #dea #dean and sam #sam and dean #dean x #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x plus size reader #dean x reader fluff #dean x cu #dean x curvy!reader #dean w #dean winchester fan fiction #dean win #dean winchester fanfiction #dean wi #dean winchester fanfics #dean swoon #dean winchester swoon

[serenescribe]

Poll: Help me pick my next TWST longfic! [FINISHED]

Hello everyone!

As most of you may know, I am quite the avid longfic writer. However, university's been slowing me down a lot, so I've been unable to write as quickly as before. So why not poll some of my fic ideas and let you all decide?

I'll include some brief, rambling summaries of the options below the cut! The poll will run for seven days, and the winner will be the longfic I focus on next! (That isn't to say I won't write other things since inspiration is fickle and some of these are semi-completed, but for the most case, my priority will be whatever wins!)

[Summaries under the cut!]

i. Bad Things Happen Bingo: Locked in a Freezer Epel-focused! I originally started working on this in April but shelved it because I was more focused on writing Diasomnia. That and I also did not look forward to writing Rook... Still, the benefit of this option is that It's already 2/3 finished, with the first two chapters done, so it would be done a lot faster. I'd feel pretty keen on finishing it sooner if there was interest expressed.

ii. Bad Things Happen Bingo: Barely Conscious Silver-focused! A bad end AU of the Fairy Gala remix event... and that's about all I can say about it. Compared to the other options, it wouldn't be as long, so I could see it being done faster. It would not have a definitive conclusion, being a bad end of an event, but if you like Silver suffering, this is the one for you!

iii. Bad Things Happen Bingo: On the Run Sebek-focused, along with the first years! I originally wanted to write this for Halloween this year, but quickly shelved that idea due to realising how much Uni sapped my energy. This is one of the two options here that would be rated Mature, along with warnings of Major Character Death. It was meant to be a Halloween fic, after all.

iv. Bad Things Happen Bingo: This Is For Your Own Good Silver and Lilia-focused. What can I say about this AU without revealing too much...? This is the other option that would be rated Mature. It gets truly fucked up and dark in the latter half, and bad things truly does happen. It would also be one of the longest fics in the BTHB series, as I'm envisioning two very long chapters. All the same, this is arguably the idea I'm most excited to write. So if that means anything to you (trust in my tastes, perhaps?) you might want to consider voting for this!

v. Bad Things Happen Bingo: Hope Is Scary Silver-focused, though Lilia comes in later. This is arguably the least developed of all the ideas here, however it was a really good idea that Olive thought up and gave me permission to write. A lot of Silver suffering in this one! And being alone. The prompt is literally about losing all hope and not wanting to hope again in case it gets dashed.

vi. Reverse Containment Breach AU: Starchild Lilia and Silver-focused. This is based on Olive's Reverse Containment Breach AU, of which I'd previously written a ficlet for here with Malleus and Sebek. Think something SCP-esque with an organisation studying strange subjects. Head Researcher Lilia Vanrouge stumbles upon a boy who fell from space one night, and that's when everything slowly goes off the rails. I actually finished about 1/3 of this? So it's partially started.

vii. PMMM AU: Lilia Longfic Lilia and Silver-focused. What it says on the tin. Mica and I's PMMM AU, which isn't 1:1 with canon but Lilia takes the role of Homura, and Silver as Madoka. Time loops and general suffering and angst. If you know how Madoka plays out, you know how this one's going to go.

#housekeeping tag #going to tag some twst stuff so this can show up in search #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #i'm scheduling this to go up while i'm probably asleep btw #reblogs are appreciated! you can idk. convince others to vote for an option? i welcome that

[muzzlemouths]

Prompt: Hypothermic

Moon centric // Wordcount: 2407

You can recall the exact decisions that brought you to this point.

It started with a favor. Your coworker had a family emergency and needed to be out of there ASAP, but with an hour left to their shift, and no reason to expect that the company would honor the need behind their sudden departure, they were left with no other choice but to drop the remaining duties onto someone else.

You had generously offered to take on said responsibilities - after all, you had only just clocked out, and the required tasks could be done in a cinch. Off the clock, of course, so management wasn’t on your ass about overtime.

That was mistake number one.

Your second mistake came in the form of a locked door and pure, unadulterated stupidity.

The assignment had been simple; locate the walk-in freezer, find a spare bag of ice, and bring it to the food court. Easy. It was your last task of the night and there was absolutely, positively, no way you could fuck it up.

That brings you back to the here and now, where you stand blank-faced behind a solid, steel door, locked up tight from the outside, with no way out in sight.

You hadn’t bothered to prop the door open. In your defense, you didn’t think that was ever something you would need to even consider. Why bother installing a door - a door to a room that had the potential to make fucking employee-popsicles - that for some forsaken reason locked from the outside?

But this was Fazco. you were talking about. The number of poor design choices ranging from infrastructure to animatronic virus protection was so grand it exceeded the fingers on both hands. Of course they would design a freezer that turned into a deathtrap. Why make things easy for you? When have they ever!

Rant aside, you were in some serious trouble.

Your fists, pink and tender, ached with the force at which you beat them against the door and shook at the handle, your fingers having already gone numb, and trembling for another reason entirely.

Did you know most industrial freezers are kept at 0 Fahrenheit? That’s -17 Celsius. Thirty-two degrees under what is required to make snow.

You don’t have a jacket. Hell, you don’t even have long sleeves. You’re wearing the company uniform - a crew neck, polyester - and some old jeans. The forecast called for a steady breeze, not the fucking arctic plains.

Panicking won’t do you any good. You tell yourself this, mumbling it between chattering teeth, like a mantra, long after you’ve already given panic a fair shot. The panic came first from the very moment you realized you were trapped, only increasing when a failed attempt to call for help revealed that service wasn’t available in the deep freeze. Now it was time to be cool headed (pun intended), or you faced a near zero chance of escaping with your life.

Funny. You had always assumed, in the back of your mind, that your final breaths would be taken by this stupid company. But certainly not like this. Not by becoming freezer food.

No, think! You can’t afford to dawdle, not now, when the clock is already tick-tick-ticking away. You pace in circles, taking up the entirety of the 6'x 6' space, until remembering that movement increased blood-flow to your extremities and that warmth wasn’t coming back. So you sit, instead, regardless of how cold the floor is against your ass, and you put all of your remaining energy (what’s left of it, dwindling by the minute) into figuring out a proper plan.

You don’t have any medical knowledge beyond the first-aid training the pizzeria requires upon hiring, but you do have a handful of useless history knowledge - useless until today, that is. You pour over any detail from the books that might save you here and then recall a horrifying piece of trivia from your brief obsession with the Titanic; survivors had been cast into water that was 28 degrees, with the longest average of survival being forty-five minutes, and the shortest being only fifteen.

You sat in air twenty-eight degrees cooler. The clock in your phone tells you that five minutes have already passed. There is no life boat coming to your rescue.

Okay, so that information doesn’t exactly help your situation. If anything, it only rouses your panic into its second stage, and it takes everything to keep yourself from adding hyperventilation to your list of worries.

Speaking of symptoms, you were feeling your fair share of those already.

Shivering, obviously, pale fingers and exhaustion to name a few more, shallow breath, to boot, but that may be the panic. Though you try and try again to press your fingers to your wrist you come back short every time, your heart is screaming but your pulse is practically nonexistent, a bad sign to say the least.

You haven’t felt the urge to rip your clothes off, yet. You have that going for you if nothing else.

Another minute passes. Six in total. You find yourself leaning against the icy door despite the chill it brings to your already cold skin, if only from a lack of energy to keep yourself upright any longer. The breath forming in front of you feels like the warmest part of yourself right now, and slowly, doubtlessly, you feel yourself waning. Growing slow. Growing stiff.

You again try your phone, its 26% battery staring back at you uselessly. The call doesn’t go through, and neither do the texts. The back of your hand slams against metal in a another futile attempt to gain the attention of someone, anyone, who might be passing by. Again, and again, and again. Nothing. Your knuckles come back bloody and raw.

Something coils in your chest - terror and nausea all at once - it’s let out as a scream that echoes against the walls of this closed-in room and does not escape beyond it. You clocked out half an hour ago, the pizzeria having already closed before then. As far as your fellow coworkers are concerned you had already long since headed home. There stood no reason to check the kitchens or question your absence at all.

You are going to die here.

The thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. That realization in itself, however, does send some fickle wave of concern through your nerves, though there’s little energy remaining to do anything about it. Eight minutes have now passed since the door locked behind you. Thoughts come slow if at all, and your cries for help - slurring, now, you laxly notice - eventually fall silent.

Your hands run once over the goosebumps in a last ditch attempt to find some heat and you now realize, with a faint and humorless laugh, that even your shivering has come to a stop. A bad sign. The worst yet. Your world begins to fade one shadowy star before your eyes at a time.

Then comes the tapping. Nails on metal. Deliriously, you stare down at your own hands to see if you’re the one doing it, only to find them still wound tight around your elbows. The curious sound repeats, and then the door–

It opens.

Your body, still tucked in on itself, drifts forward all together with the weight of the metal as it’s drawn wide. And who enters next and stares down at you other than the man of the hour himself. Moon fucking drop. You’ve never been happier to see him.

At the same time, you think you’d rather take freezing to death.

“Breaks aren’t extended by hiding in freezers,” he says with a sneer, but it’s cut short, the smile wiped right off his stupid little face, and for a moment you swear you see his eyes change. Maybe it’s the delirium, but you see blue. For the very first time you see blue. And then he blinks, and the red returns, and he’s bending at the waist and shoving a cold hand against your forehead. “Bad.” Is all he says, whispered still. You don’t try to stop your laughter.

“Y-Yeah,” a cough escapes you, dry and heaving, “‘s real bad. C’n you help meyup?” You can’t believe the jumbled words even as they escape your dry, paling lips. Never before have you asked him for help, and hopefully, the occasion would be a first and a last. You expect nothing but mockery from him at the show of vulnerability.

Yet he bends ever further, bypassing your weakly extended hand all together in favor of gathering you into his arms. It’s awkward, at first, a hasty grab under your armpits that would have you squirming were it not for the cold stiffness in your limbs, and you hate to admit it, but the way he cradles you after - one hand tucked under your backside and the other pressed flat to your shoulders - it makes you relent. Your head falls against his shoulder with an effortless thud, and your arms wrap around him, feeling secure as they do so, the only thing on your mind being how warm he feels in that moment.

Before your eyes can fall shut completely you see him heading for the front entrance, and the confusion that realization carries with it stirs you from the seven layers of brain fog only enough to question him, “Wh’r we going?”

“Management,” the word is hissed, said flat, “hospital.”

“Wh’t?” That, if nothing else, brings you back to full attention. As much of it as the fog can spare, anyway. “Put me d’wn, ‘m fine,” you wade through layers of breaching unconsciousness to get the words out, and clearly, he doesn’t buy it, not even slowing to them, “Moon, don’t,” you try more insistently, “Please, I c’nt afford it. ‘ll be f-fine.”

This time, he slows to a stop, staring down at you with uncertainty. “Bad.” He repeats again, “Too cold.” The hand at your back raises to press sweetly against your forehead once more, “Hypothermic.”

His eyes scan the room, flickering back and forth before settling on a stream of light in the distance, and you watch him consider.

“No,” you coerce your head into shaking, the weight of it feeling like a slab of concrete on your neck, “n’t Sun either, he’ll j’st freak out.” Sluggishly, your head lifts to a point where you can kind of see his face, “I just need’a blanket, tha’s all.” Then, with a smile (albeit forced, and obvious about it), you add some cheek, “you’re good a’ blanket stuff, right, starboy?”

The way he stiffens around you signals your success. If nothing else, taking advantage of his attitude and making it conductive to your own needs remains one of your finest skills, and a habit you would milk until it inevitably came back to bite - or perhaps in Moon’s case - kill you. Today, however, he appears willing to cave, acting as if he’s truly worried about you. And maybe he is. But that was a question to pick apart another day.

For now, he seems fit to listen to your pleas, and you’re swept off to the daycare, instead.

It’s engulfed in darkness upon entering, as to be expected. Moon’s eyes cast an eerie red glow as he carries you further into the room. Bracing you firmly against him, he crouches by a chest of blankets and begins to pull one out, only to abandon the effort and instead take hold of the trunk’s side handle, dragging the heavy thing all the way to a corner fitted with bean bags and a crate of stuffed animals.

It’s here where he settles with you still in his arms, falling into a particularly large bean bag with a loud and tired sigh, and soon after reaching in for the chest again and drawing the cover away. While one hand stays snug around your waist, the other brings a patchwork blanket over your body, tucking it against your neck and shoulders, then he dives back in for a second blanket, and then a third, thoroughly nesting you beneath each one.

There’s little else for him to do here. He isn’t a doctor, he has no tools, no methods of getting heat into your body at a speed that’s more appropriate, so he goes about it the old fashioned way.

His other arm dips beneath the covers and together, both hands sooth over your exposed skin, drawing natural heat to the surface with careful, measured touches that feel like hellfire on your skin, but only briefly.

At one point he tugs at the hem of your shirt, and you smile into his chest, still somewhat loopy, “You aren’t gett’ng it off,” you tell him, all but mumbling, “I d’nt care how much it might help.”

“Cheeky,” comes his swift reply, “Just checking.”

“F’r what?”

“That they aren’t wet,” he says, “I don’t know how long you were trapped.”

“Mm,” your eyes fall shut again, “too long,” you say, “but ‘s fine now.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, muttering something that you don’t quite catch. Before you can bring it up, however, his hands distracted you, moving down your spine in soothing circles and then dipping kindly beneath your shirt, his palm flattening against the bare small of your back. “You should be more careful,” he says.

Your head lolls to the side, making an effort to look up at him once more, and you smile with a tease, “What, were you worried ab’t me?”

“Yes.”

Oh. The sass dies on your tongue.

When you smile again, this time, it’s something genuine, “Good thing you came to my rescue, then.” your eyes flutter closed, the weight of them too much to bear, “m g’nna take a little nap, okay?”

In the morning you’ll realize. Your words will come back to haunt you, and your willingness to let your guard down with him won’t go unnoticed. But tonight, you are content to stay just like this. Moon tucks his chin over your head and holds you in a way that makes you feel safe, nestled between three layers of blanket and a chest that plays you lullabies.

“You’re drinking some tea when you wake up,” he chides - but it’s soft, a whisper against your ear, followed by an exhale, you feel him smile against your head. “Nighty night,” he lulls.

Your heart beats warmly against his chest.

#drabbles #moondrop #fnaf moon #moon x reader #TWO DRABBLES POSTED IN ONE DAY LET'S GOOOOOOOOO #had an interesting time with this one #semi based off of a true experience #though mine was in a 34f room and not a goddamn thermal freezer thankfully #rip y/n you keep coming THIS close to death buddy

[mackenzielovee]

sixth sense: part thirteen

synopsis: "You love the way he moves. The way he conducts himself. He’s gentle and careful and purposeful; all in ways you aren't."

warnings: swearing, kissing, allusions to sex, sexual innuendos, consumption of alcohol, description of panic attacks (shortness of breath, anxiety, PTSD) please do not read if depictions of panic attacks/PTSD will trigger you.

wc: 5.4k (whoops)

a/n: hello! i know it's been a hot minute but here we go. hopefully it's good! please let me know what you think if you can and i hope you enjoy! xoxo

series masterlist

     Three weeks go by in the blink of an eye. Three weeks of classes, exams, work, and sex with Rafe. He’s begun spending almost every night at your apartment, having caved on the argument that staying over makes his morning commute longer. You don’t force him to, but when he showed up one afternoon with a duffle bag and a spare toothbrush, you had jumped into his arms. 

The truth is, being with him leaves you less time to think. It leaves you less time to worry about the noise you think you heard in the kitchen, or if your dream really was just a dream when you wake up at three in the morning. With Rafe’s arms wrapped around you while you sleep, you feel safe, and you start to make it through the entire night again. You seem to be improving in every way — except one. 

Broad daylight. Middle of the afternoon. Rafe Cameron sitting two feet away. And yet, your mind is way off, focusing on that night, on that wall, on that hand around your throat. You relive it over and over, begging for the memory to go away while also being unable to shake it from your thoughts for more than five minutes at a time. 

“Oh shit, did you see that?” Rafe chuckles from above you, pointing toward your TV. 

“Missed it,” you admit quietly. 

He looks down at you and frowns, “Is something wrong, baby?”

“No,” you say, cuddling your head deeper into his chest, “Sorry. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You’re not into the movie,” he guesses, “That’s okay. We can watch something else.”

“No, Rafe, it’s fine,” you say, sitting up and removing the remote from his hands. 

“Y/N—” he groans, but you silence him with a kiss. The gesture makes him smile, and soon, you do, too, “Fine. But I’m getting you some ice cream so you at least have some entertainment.”

“Thank you,” you grin. 

He rises from the couch, his shirt rising up and exposing the band of his Calvin Kleins. You lick your lips at the sight, shamelessly watching him walk into the kitchen and dig through your freezer. He returns with a pint of ice cream and two spoons, smiling when you shift over to let him sit. 

Without being prompted, you place your head on his chest and let his arm wrap around you, pulling you even closer. You grab the pint and hold it for the both of you, digging in almost immediately. 

You smile to yourself as you attempt to re-focus on the movie, letting your mind fall to all of the simple safeties in this moment. The lock of the front door, the sound of the TV, the warmth of Rafe’s body. When both of you finish eating and Rafe feels you physically relax in his arms, he kisses your forehead and covers the both of you with a blanket. 

He lets you doze off; turning the volume of the movie down so as to not wake you. He remains completely still, listening to your even breaths and holding you close, praying that your nightmares really are gone, and that the only reason for your nap is that you hadn’t slept well the night before. 

     When you wake, you shift up to get a good look at Rafe. His head is leaned back into the couch cushion and his eyes look tired, but when he sees you, he smiles. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you smile, “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t be,” he replies easily. 

You push up and nod your head for a kiss, one which he gives you immediately. He welcomes you in as you crawl onto his lap, straddling him and pressing a few more kisses to his lips before pulling back.

“So,” you say, swallowing anxiously and chewing on your bottom lip, “About Saturday night—”

“You don’t want to go,” he guesses. 

You shake your head and scoff, playfully punching him on the shoulder, “I do. I just need to know what color dress I should buy. I’m going shopping with Bryn tomorrow.”

Rafe’s fraternity is having their winter formal on Saturday, and when Rafe invited you, part of you was initially excited. You’d get to see him in his natural setting for an entire night — instead of just a few moments like you did when you first went to a party at his frat. 

However, as the days tick by, you grow more and more anxious. A room full of drunk frat boys doesn’t sound like the safest place to be — Rafe or not. 

“Whatever color you want to wear, baby,” he says, voice soft and sincere, “I’ll adjust accordingly.”

You smile, “I’m thinking blue. Like a dark, midnight blue, you know?”

He nods, humoring you, “That would be beautiful on you.”

“I have to get my nails done, too,” you continue, locking your hands around his neck. 

“You know where my wallet is.”

He nods toward the front door, where his wallet sits beside his keys. You shake your head and roll your eyes, all while teasingly moving your hips against him. 

“I’m not asking you for money, I’m just telling you what I’m going to be doing tomorrow,” you say. 

“I understand,” he presses, “But I invited you, and you’re my girlfriend, and I want to pay for your nails. And your dress.”

“No,” you say sternly. 

“I’ll Venmo Bryn the money, then,” he grins, kissing your nose, “Want to take a shower before bed?”

“Yes,” you smile as he stands, guiding your legs around his waist and carrying you off to your bathroom for yet another night. 

     “I’m just saying,” Bryn grunts, unable to meet your eyes, “Blue Hawaiians are not the least masculine drink a guy can order.”

You snort, “So, you’re into Topper now?”

“No,” she immediately fires back, “I’m only going for the free booze.”

You laugh, shaking your head as if to show her that you don’t believe her for a second. Topper and Rafe had been spending much more time at the bar when you and Bryn were working, and much to Bryn’s dislike, she had formed some sort of bond with Topper. Some days she would swear she hates him. Other days, you caught her biting her lip to hide a smile at the mere mention of his name. When Topper asked her to be his date to the frat formal, Bryn took three days and gave Topper two panic attacks before she finally agreed. 

You pull a dress off the rack and hold it up to yourself, letting out a long breath before turning to Bryn. 

“What about this one?”

One glance is all it takes, “Not the one.”

“Bryn,” you groan, “It’s a frat party. It doesn’t matter that much.”

“That’s the spirit,” she mutters sarcastically, “Here.”

Without looking up, she holds out a royal blue, knee-length dress, then points to the dressing rooms in the corner of the store.

You raise your eyebrows to silently question her, and when she sees you, she holds up her own red dress. 

“Topper’s gonna love that one,” you tease her. 

“Shut up.”

     The blue dress initially takes your breath away. It boosts your confidence, and just for a moment, you smile and anticipate the entire evening. It takes you a minute to realize where you’d seen such a blue — only to realize that it’s the same color you find a home in every night. You pull out your phone and take a picture of yourself in the dress, intent on showing it to Rafe right away, when a girl in another dressing room lets out a scream. 

Your blood seems to freeze in your veins as you press yourself in the corner of your dressing room, in between the mirror and the bench housing your clothes and purse. You can’t suck in a full breath and suddenly the room seems too small. 

“You look so good!”

The voice of the screamer sends your head into your lap. You pull your knees to your chest and try to calm your racing heart, repeating over and over again to yourself that you’re safe, that everything is okay, and there’s no immediate danger. 

“Y/N?” Bryn calls through the wall of the dressing rooms, “Can you come out? I’m not sure about how this sits around my waist.”

You take a few deep, even breaths, “Yeah, just give me a sec.”

“How does your dress look?”

You groan silently and put your legs out straight in front of you, trying to get yourself prepared to stand. 

“It’s fine,” you mutter.

“Fine?” 

You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from cursing at her, desperate to get her to just be quiet for one more second. 

“Whatever, Bryn, it—”

“Just let me see it,” she pushes. 

You hear the door to her dressing room open and know that you’ve run out of time. With a deep breath and the compression of your anxiety, you step out. 

You fidget with the straps of your dress as your eyes wander up Bryn’s figure, making you smile. She looks absolutely beautiful — you knew she would, and part of you is sure she’s more excited for this entire event than you are. 

“Y/N,” she gapes, “You look incredible!”

“So do you,” you smile, swallowing every other emotion down and letting her presence calm you. 

“Thank you,” she grins, “Rafe’s going to love your dress. It looks perfect on you.”

“Thanks,” you say, looking down, “I don’t have shoes for this dress, though.”

She smiles that smile you know all too well — the one that tells you she already has the entire thing figured out. 

“Don’t worry. There’s a shoe store next to the nail salon. We’ll pop in there. Want to change and grab lunch before we go?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

The two of you separate, and once your dressing room door is closed, you press your back to it and sigh. Every fiber in your body is telling you to get yourself under control; to relax and stop being so high strung. Without another glance in the mirror, you take off the dress and put your clothes back on, only to get distracted by a text from Rafe. You’d managed to send the picture off to him before you got spooked, but you can see your half written out message that had been lost by the anxiety. 

Holy fuck.

You look so sexy, baby.

I can’t believe I get to stare at you all night. 

Going to get your nails done now?

You smile and type out your ‘thank you’, and ‘yes, color request?’, then collect your purse and hang the dress back up. Bryn’s waiting for you by the register, but a new text from Rafe slows down your approach. 

Good. Do blue. And get that swirly shit. 

I can’t wait to see you tonight. Have fun. I love you!

You’re too busy typing back with a wide grin on your face to notice how Bryn removes your dress from your arm, handing it over to the cashier with her own. She swipes her card as you lock your phone, eyes darting back and forth between the cashier and your best friend. 

“Wait a second—” you object, only to be met with the palm of Bryn’s hand.

“Rafe sent me money this morning,” she explains, “Let’s just say it’s enough to cover clothes, shoes, and nails. And lunch. And, probably, your tuition.”

Your jaw drops as you process her words, remembering how Rafe told you he’d pull this stunt. You never dreamed he would, though. With a short, disbelieving laugh, you excuse yourself and step out of the store.

The sun beats down on you as you dial Rafe, pursing your lips in an attempt to try and be angry, when in reality, you just want to kiss him. 

“Hello?”

“Rafe,” you say calmly. 

“Hi, baby,” he replies, smile obvious, “Everything okay?”

“Everything — Rafe,” you repeat, “You gave Bryn money?”

He chuckles, “Of course I did.”

“Why? I told you that I didn’t want you paying for my stuff,” you groan, “You work too hard, and—”

“Y/N, relax,” he says calmly, “Half of the money is from Topper. He wanted to pay for Bryn’s stuff but knew she wouldn’t take it from him, so I’m letting her think it’s all from me for both of you. I want you to get what you want. I know this past month has been rough, but you’ve been so strong, and you deserve to have someone take care of you every now and then. Can you just let me spoil my girl a little, please?”

Bryn walks out of the store and holds up the garment bags with a wide smile and a thumbs up. You laugh to yourself and let your body relax, soaking up Rafe’s words.

“I guess I can allow it,” you tease him. 

He laughs, “I appreciate that. Go have fun, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say, watching Bryn pretend to gag. 

She hands you your garment bag the second you hang up, tossing her arm around your shoulder and guiding you out to her car. 

“Not to sound shallow, but you never told me your little classmate crush was rich,” she teases. 

You bite down on your lip, knowing several things she doesn’t. The first being that Rafe, while not rich, works very hard to support himself given that he gets no help from his parents. The second being that Topper — of all people — is paying for Bryn’s entire spree. 

“He has a good job,” you decide to say. 

She snorts, “You’re telling me. It’s not every day I wake up to eight hundred dollars in my Vemno account.”

You practically choke at the number, but you conceal it well. You breathe it in and then let it out, opting to let it all go for the next few hours before you can get your hands on Rafe to either thank him or scold him. Which, you haven’t decided. 

     On Saturday, you spend the entire day getting ready. Rafe leaves in the early morning, and after that, you purposely drag out each task for as long as you possibly can just to keep your mind busy. 

Your makeup takes you over an hour, and you’re just brushing the mascara wand through your lashes when you hear your front door open. You stand up straight and lean your ear out toward the doorway of your bathroom, straining to hear Rafe call out to you. 

He doesn’t.

You scramble to remember whether or not you locked the door behind Rafe, and you know you have, because you’d checked compulsively for the last eight hours. This factor doesn’t contribute to the calming of your anxiety, and soon, your back is pressed against the wall of your bathroom and shut the light off, hoping you’ll fool whoever just came inside. 

Your heart pounds as dress shoes click across the hardwood of your living room, then silence when they meet the carpet of your bedroom. You hold your breath and press a hand over your mouth. 

“Y/N?”

Relief floods through your veins as you come off the wall, letting out a long, loud sigh. Rafe steps over to the doorway and furrows his eyebrows, watching you suck in deep, uneven breaths in the middle of your dark bathroom. 

He steps inside and turns on the light, and without a second thought, he takes you into his arms. 

“Baby, it’s me. What’s up?”

You shake your head, gripping onto his dress shirt and clinging to him. He remains calm, letting his hands travel up and down the back of your robe to soothe you. 

“You have to—” you stop and close your eyes, actively telling yourself to relax, “You have to tell me when you come in.” 

He nods immediately, tightening his grip, “Okay. Shit, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you curse yourself for overreacting, for burdening him with all of this. He leans down to kiss the top of your head, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear to whisper another apology. 

“It’s okay,” you promise him, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You open your eyes and look up at him, giving a small — and what you hope is convincing — smile. Noticing how he's freshly shaven and his hair is done, you take in his look and then cup his cheeks in your palms. 

“Yes,” you reply, “You look handsome.”

“You look beautiful,” he counters, “I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.”

You laugh at that, “You’re cute.”

He grins, letting his eyes wander from yours, down to the top of your robe. His hands slide from your back to your waist, pulling you closer as he angles his head down. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes, I promise.”

He swallows, looking as if he almost doesn’t believe you, then uses his hand to tip your chin up.

“Let me know if that changes,” he demands, his voice low, “Go get dressed.”

He watches you frown as you realize he’d just been teasing you. He pulls back and smiles at your pout, then gives you a quick peck on the lips to appease you.

“Fine,” you mumble, “But, just for the record, I don’t have anything on under this robe.”

He groans at the thought as you exit the bathroom, not at all surprised when Rafe pounces on you and pulls you onto the bed, laughing as you squeal. He licks his laps and starts attacking your face and neck with kisses, crushing you under his weight in the best way. 

“Nobody comes to these things on time, anyway,” he tells you, “We’ve got a while.”

Before you can object, Rafe kisses you again and makes his way down your body, guiding your legs over his shoulders as he settles in on his stomach. 

“Need you,” you whimper. 

He smirks, “You’ve got me, baby. In every way.”

     Bryn and Topper are both well on their way to being drunk when you and Rafe find them in the kitchen. You chuckle as you watch Bryn toss back a shot, then lean into Topper for help to keep her upright. Rafe’s hands rest on your hips behind you, guiding you through the party from his place behind you.

“Y/N!” Bryn cheers when she catches sight of you, “I’m so happy you’re here!”

She tosses her arms around your neck and pulls you close, letting Rafe’s hands fall from you. Topper greets Rafe, then gives you a smile and a nod. 

“You look beautiful, Bryn,” you tell her.

She giggles, “So do you. You better hang onto that one.”

You give Topper a nod and a knowing smile before stepping back over to Rafe, letting his embrace bring you in. The music flows through the house loudly as people move to step around the four of you. It’s enough to make you squirm, although you’re sure Rafe’s strong arm is the only thing keeping you grounded. 

“Want a drink, baby?” he whispers to you.

“Mhm,” you reply, forcing a smile as the room seems to grow smaller.

“What would you like?”

His arm loosens around you, as if he’s going to step away. Instinctively, you reach up and clutch his hand, keeping his arm in position.

“Whatever you’re having,” you answer, “How about I come with you?”

He smiles and laces your fingers together, “I would love that.”

The two of you make it four steps before another member of Rafe’s frat stops him. Proudly, Rafe introduces you to him and tells him how long the two of you have been together while you clutch his bicep, hellbent on keeping him close. If he notices, he pretends not to. As you move away again, your eyes scan every single face in the room as if to try and spot the danger before it spots you. 

He’s not here. Relax. You should have fun. Forget about the rest of it. 

“Are you sure you want me to make your drink?” he teases, “You say I make them too strong.”

You give him half a smile, “Strong is good.”

Rafe’s expression falls with his eyes, and you watch him as he removes his arm from your grasp and turns toward the bar. He doesn’t look over at you once as he pours the liquor; instead, he remains completely focused. 

You stare as he bites his lip, almost as if he’s debating what he should say next. He waits until he hands you your drink, glancing up at you quickly before passing the cup off. 

“If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve told me,” he mumbles. 

Your eyebrows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

He scoffs and takes a long sip of his own drink before turning to face you, letting those blue eyes engulf your every thought the second you see them.

“Come on, Y/N. You barely said a word when I introduced you to Max, and now, you want straight vodka in a cup to get you through the next few hours. If you don’t want to be here, I’ll take you home, but—”

“No,” you stop him, stepping closer, “That’s not what I want. I’m sorry. I’m just a little on edge. A drink will calm my nerves.”

Rafe frowns, “Nerves? Baby, it’s just a party.”

“I know, I just—” you stop and shake your head, “I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Rafe nods. His arm snakes its way around your waist again, pulling you into his chest. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says, “Just be honest with me, okay? Promise?”

Swallowing down your guilt, you nod, “Promise.”

“That’s my girl.”

He kisses your forehead, missing the way your eyes flutter closed over the turning feeling in your stomach. Keeping all of this from him is only growing harder and harder, and you know that there’s a time clock on how much Rafe will take before he confronts you once and for all. He deserves a better partner, and you decide that you want to be that for him. 

“Will you introduce me to some more of your friends?” you ask. 

His eyes light up, “Really?”

“Yes,” you smile. 

He nods happily and takes your hand, wasting no time leading you out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

     Rafe spends the remainder of the night introducing you and smiling when you make an effort to bond with his friends and their girlfriends. Topper and Bryn wander into the living room and join after a while — Bryn with a little less lipstick and Topper with a little more. Rafe makes his way to tipsy and so do you;  just enough that you’re calm and engaging with the people your boyfriend cares about. Quickly, Rafe laps you and grows louder with each drink, hands wandering even more than they do when he’s sober. When the conversation naturally flows elsewhere, you turn and tuck yourself against Rafe’s chest on the couch. 

“How you doin’, baby?” he whispers, kissing the spot underneath your earlobe. 

“I’m good,” you promise him. 

He grins, “You’re sexy as fuck. Thank you for being so nice to my friends.”

“Of course, Rafe.”

You turn to look at him, and his smile widens when you meet his gaze. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, but you have no idea what he’s thinking. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, “You’ve overcome so much. You’re so strong.”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

“Nobody would blame you if you aren’t over it, though,” he continues, “You can talk to me.”

You look up at him again, and for a moment, you wonder if he really is as tipsy as he’s making himself seem. His eyes seem hard, as if he knows something’s up, but is trying to fish it out of you. Your heart squeezes; you’re sure you’ve been caught. 

“I know,” you answer weakly. 

He gives you a close-lipped smile, “Good. Would you like to go upstairs now?”

To lighten the mood, and hopefully keep Rafe happy, you smirk and pull him closer by his shirt, watching as he grins. 

“Are you just trying to get me all to yourself?” you tease him. 

“That’s my agenda every second of every day, actually,” he answers, “Was that not made clear?”

You giggle as he leans down, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips. His friends start to groan, but when Rafe breaks away, both of you smile like fools. He guides you up on your feet, taking note of the way you grimace in your heels. Without a second thought, he kneels down and wraps his hand around your ankle, pulling your leg up. 

The entire living room watches as Rafe kneels in front of you and removes your heels one by one, placing a kiss on each knee cap as he goes. When he stands, his eyes look slightly more hazy, his grin a little more sloppy, and you’ve never been more desperate to kiss him. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Oh, trust me, baby, it was my pleasure.”

He kisses you once, then takes your hand in his right one, still clutching your heels in his left, and guides you away. You say goodnight to the group as a whole, winking at Bryn, who is perched happily in Topper’s lap as he kisses her neck. 

Rafe leads you up the stairs and to his bedroom, pulling a key from his pocket the same way he did the first night you ever came up here. He lets you enter his room first, then closes and locks the door behind him. 

He laughs when you collapse on his bed, expecting him to join you. Instead, he grabs you by the waist and turns you around, then tugs you up. 

“Let me take your makeup off before you sleep, okay?” 

You give him a pouty smile, “Okay.”

Rafe takes you into his bathroom and opens the drawer he’d made for you on the rare occasion you spend the night here. He’d done it all up; filling it with makeup wipes, face wash, a new toothbrush, tampons and pads, and, of course, his condoms. 

“C’mere, baby,” he says, slurring his words only a bit, “Sit right here.”

He kicks the toilet seat closed with his foot and lets you sit, then kneels down in front of you and takes your jaw in his hand. You smile and close your eyes, letting him gently and carefully swipe the makeup wipe over your cheeks and eyes. When he’s through, he kisses you tenderly, then tosses the wipe in the garbage. You both step over to his sink and line your toothbrushes with toothpaste. Rafe’s free hand wanders while the two of you brush, and when you’re through, he sits you down on the bathroom counter and maneuvers himself in between your legs. 

“Tell me the truth,” he demands, clutching your cheek in his palm. 

You swallow, “Okay.”

“You love me?”

He smiles after the question, and the tightness in your chest fades immediately. 

“I do,” you nod, “So much. It’s kind of concerning.”

He laughs as you quote him, then pulls you even closer. One of his hands falls to your thigh while the other still holds your cheek, and the happy smile on his face tells you that this part is the only part of the night he genuinely wants to be a part of. 

“I love you, too,” he confesses, “And I’m so fucking worried about you.”

You draw back, “Worried?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his nose brushing your cheek as he leaves a kiss on your jaw, “I don’t know how to help you. I just want you to tell me the truth. And I definitely don’t want to fight again.”

“Rafe,” you sigh, but he shakes his head to stop you. 

“You space out on me all the time,” he say, lips brushing against your skin, “You’re withdrawn, you don’t eat very much, you get up five times during the night to check the lock on the front door, and I’ve stayed in your apartment for three weeks now, and you still haven’t kicked me out. You’re terrified, baby, I know it. But why won’t you tell me?”

“Rafe, it’s not you—”

“I would never hurt you,” he continues, almost as if he never heard you speak, “I just want to see you smile again. I want you to let me all the way in. Why can’t you just show me your heart? You’ve got mine. Forever. I want yours, too, Y/N.”

You swallow roughly, feeling your throat constrict at his confession. Your hands run up his chest, fingertips brushing the fabric of his dress shirt. Your eyes shift down, catching on that flash of pink on his wrist. The only tattoo he possesses in color. 

“You have it,” you say weakly. 

His eyes shut, and slowly, his head starts to shake back and forth. You can’t help but watch as he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead, kissing his disbelief into you. 

“I don’t,” he replies, “But I’ll earn it. I promise. Just don’t leave me. Don’t push me away.”

You nod, watching his blue eyes open once more. He licks his lips and looks down at yours, fixing your frown with his index finger. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I know.”

You tug him down by the collar of his dress shirt in an attempt to kiss the doubt, the anger, the sadness out of him. He kisses you back with the same urgency, trying to communicate just how much he wants to know every piece of you. The good, the bad, the ugly, the tainted. He seems to want every piece of it, and for a moment, you consider giving that to him. The thought of him regretting it, however, is enough to shut you back down. To bury the ugly parts of yourself in the deepest places, where Rafe can never find them.

“Let’s go to bed,” he decides. 

You nod in agreement. He hooks your legs around his waist and carries you back into his room, setting you down on the bed. You watch as he walks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers and a tee shirt, then walks over to you. Silently, he guides you to your feet and unzips your dress, letting it fall to the floor. He unhooks your bra and loops a finger through the band of your underwear, taking a brief glance before he pulls his shirt over your head and helps you step into his boxers. He kisses you once you’re changed, then reaches down and peels back his comforter for you to get into his bed. He tucks you underneath the blanket before he steps away to change, a sight you aren’t willing to miss. 

You love the way he moves. The way he conducts himself. He’s gentle and careful and purposeful; all in ways you aren't. Where you will throw your dirty clothes on the floor, Rafe folds up his dress shirt and places it on the corner of his dresser. He takes the time to rehang his dress pants, put his shoes in his closet, and close all his dresser drawers. He glances over at his bedroom door, then nods to himself and comes over to his bed. 

He’s shirtless, wearing only boxers, as you cuddle into him. His arm wraps around you and settles at your waist in a way that can only be described as home to him. He takes his time kissing the top of your head, smirking when you angle yourself up for a real kiss from him. 

“The door’s locked,” he says quietly, “You’re completely safe.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

The room falls silent for a long moment, where silent words hang between the two of you. He wants you to let him in. You can feel your resistance crumbling, but you know telling him when he’s still intoxicated isn’t the best timing. 

“I love you,” he says, the three words holding the weight of a thousand. 

“I love you, too,” you answer, “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

He sucks in a relieved breath at that, “Okay, baby. Tomorrow.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek, then settle in on his chest once more, face buried into the crook of his neck. He hums happily as he feels your even breaths hit his skin, and soon, both of you are completely asleep and at peace for the first time in three weeks.

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